


Promise Me Mistletoe and Schmoopy Kissing

by lambchop33



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bucky Barnes Feels, But also a good bro, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Explicit Language, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Kissing, M/M, Mistletoe, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Stark Tower, Steve Rogers Feels, Teacher Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark is a nuisance, Yes you read that right, but very consensual, just pretend there are condoms, mistletoe drone, not safe sex, shrunky clunks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-09-04 22:38:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16798438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lambchop33/pseuds/lambchop33
Summary: Steve Rogers just wants to get through Christmas without being browbeaten to death by Tony and his other so-called friends for not having a love life to speak of. Then he meets Bucky Barnes, the sexiest school teacher he's ever seen, and manages to get himself involved in a fake boyfriend scheme, all in the same day. Bucky assures him it's the perfect ploy to help them both avoid unwanted criticism (and set-ups) during the stressful holiday season...only problem is, this is one set-up Stevewants.





	1. We'd Make a Cute Couple

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of holly jolly Christmas fluff and smut to help make the season bright. :-)

Chapter One 

“Don’t forget, Steve, three weeks from tomorrow. I’ve programmed Jarvis to give you daily reminders, so you can’t bail.”

The door of the elevator Tony Stark is standing in shuts at that moment, so the last thing Steve sees before the shiny steel closes in is Tony’s huge grin. The last thing Tony would have heard was the long, drawn out groan Steve just made in response to that statement. Some days, living with Tony was a blessing…but only _some_ days. 

After the fall of SHIELD and the evidence of a resurgent HYDRA had come to light, it had seemed to Steve a good idea to move out of DC for a while, back to New York and Stark Tower. Sam came with him, Natasha and Bruce, too. Clint was always close by and even Thor checked in regularly; Steve liked having them all close together, liked working as a unit whenever threats surfaced. They had become close to each other by now and were more than just friends. More like family. He liked that, too…for the first time since coming out of the ice, he felt like he belonged somewhere. 

What he didn’t like was their constant interest and interference in his love life. Or lack of one, if you asked most of them. Sam was about the only one not to give him shit about it, but with the Stark annual Christmas bash only three weeks away, everyone else was doubling down on their insistence that Steve bring a plus one to the party, and Sam’s voice of reason was drowned out. 

Steve didn’t have a plus one. Or even a plus half. It wasn’t that he hadn’t looked, he just hadn’t found the right person yet. It hadn’t seemed to be a priority when the proverbial shit was hitting the fan. His chin has settled somewhere in his chest as he waits for the down elevator and he blows out a sigh. At least he’ll be busy today and won’t have much time to dwell on the problem. 

He’s spending the day at a grade school in Brooklyn, thanks to Pepper and her very-much-welcomed ideas for charity and public service. Okay, admittedly those PSA’s he did for the school system were ridiculous, but this he was going to enjoy. He loved kids, and visiting classrooms was a whole lot more appealing than standing in front of a camera saying dumb stuff like, “So, you got detention.”

He shakes his head in memory of that as the elevator door pops open again and he strides in, readjusting his backpack slightly. His suit is going with him, of course, because the kids always love seeing him in it, but he’s not going to drive through town on his bike like that. He prefers to stay a _teensy bit_ more under the radar. Plus, it’s December, and even though there’s no snow right now, it’s freaking _cold_ , and his jacket is nice and toasty warm. 

\--

Thirty minutes and two traffic snarls later, and Steve is wishing for the Quinjet to get around town in. Pepper said she had chosen a school at random, but it was close to the neighborhood Steve grew up in and made him feel pretty nostalgic. Finally he makes it to the red-bricked, one story school building and gets buzzed inside, where a fluttery, middle-aged secretary shows him to the principal’s office. 

Leading him through the front office area to a hallway full of small offices, she gushes, “You can have a seat right here, Captain Rogers, and I’ll let the principal know you’re here. We’re _so_ thrilled to have you!”

As he plops his backpack down on the tiled floor, slides out of his jacket and takes a seat in one of the proffered chairs, she smooths down her pixie cut of silvery grey hair and disappears into one of the offices. The chair is thinly padded and not all that comfortable, especially for a guy with a big frame like Steve’s, but he supposes they are meant for children waiting to be seen for getting into trouble, so maybe they’re _meant_ to be uncomfortable. 

While he is pondering this possibility, a man comes sauntering out of the same set of offices the secretary went into. He leaves the door open, so Steve can see that it’s not actually one office but several, all set inside that door with a connecting hallway. The man stops in front of Steve; his eyes move downward slowly, then back up to Steve’s face before he speaks. 

“Hey Cap, how’s it going?” The man, slightly shorter than Steve himself with short, dark hair, an athletic build and what Steve suspected would be a perpetual five o’clock shadow, sticks out a hand. “Brock Rumlow, Assistant Principal.”

“Oh, nice to meet you,” Steve says as he rises, shaking the man’s hand at the same time squashing down the slight grimace that comes to his face whenever a stranger calls him “Cap.”

The man’s grip is firm, but he holds on just a split second too long, and it makes the hair on the back of Steve’s neck stand up as he withdraws his hand. 

The assistant principal’s eyes are somewhere around the level of Steve’s bicep. “If you need anything today, don’t hesitate to ask. We’re lucky to have you in. Kids are gonna go crazy.”

“Okay…great,” Steve nods. 

The wandering eyes now seem to be centered over his left pectoral muscle, and it’s making Steve feel…weird. “Thank you, Mr. Rumlow,” he adds, for lack of anything else to say besides _“Hey, my eyes are up here.”_

“Yeah, no problem, Steve.” Finally he does look at Steve’s face again, giving him a smarmy grin that isn’t helping the situation at all. 

Steve is used to people seeing only “Captain America” when he’s in the uniform, but that’s not even the case here. The man does keep himself in good shape physically so maybe he just appreciates another healthy physique, but something about him is still creeping Steve out. He’s glad when a second man joins them in the hallway and introduces himself as Principal Ross. He’s a bit older, late forties, with greying hair and kind eyes. 

They shake hands and Steve instantly feels more relaxed, until the Rumlow guy slaps him on the upper arm and heads off in another direction. “Hopefully I’ll see you later,” he says over his shoulder, and Steve thinks a vehement _OR NOT_ to himself.

Principal Ross leads him down a couple of empty hallways (class has started so although the hallways are quiet, he can hear lessons going on as he passes each room) to the teacher’s lounge so he can change in the bathroom there and avoid the attention that would surely arise from using the student facilities. After that it’s game time. He’s visiting individual classrooms rather than taking on a gym full of boisterous students all at once. This way he really gets to interact with the kids on a more personal level, and they get to ask him some questions of their own.

Three classrooms in, and Steve is having a ball. Little kids are the BEST. So far some of the most interesting questions he’s been asked are if aliens have bad breath, if the Hulk snores when he’s asleep, who would win in a wrestling match between him and Thor, and his personal favorite, does Tony Stark ever wear pajamas inside his Iron Man suit?

“Yes,” he’d answered gravely, and the kids had all laughed. 

Now he was on his way to a second grade classroom. A teacher’s aide had escorted him to the door, outside which hung a neatly lettered sign proclaiming it to be the room of a “Mr. Barnes.” The aide, a young woman with a perky, turned up nose and smiling eyes, knocks and then turns to Steve. “I think his class is at recess right now, so you’ll have a minute to breathe.” 

Steve thanks her and waits for the door to open. He is prepared for there to be a male teacher inside. What he isn’t prepared for is it to be the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. Cool blue eyes greet him, topping a strong jawline and cheekbones that could cut glass. Short, wavy dark hair falls back from his forehead. 

Steve’s mouth goes completely dry. His heart beats in such a fast tattoo, he’s sure the man can see his chest heaving along with it. Blood is pounding inside his ears, and he can’t even think of what he’s supposed to say first. 

Fortunately for him, the aide standing next to him pipes up as soon as the door opens. “Hey Mr. B., look what I brought you!” She smiles at Steve and then the teacher, and Steve tries not to choke on his tongue, which now feels like it has swollen five times in size and threatens to cut off his air supply. The man gives them both a dazzling smile. 

“Thanks Daphne,” he says; the aide traipses off and Steve thinks he manages to mutter a “thanks” to her retreating back before he turns to regard the gorgeous, otherworldly being in front of him. 

“Captain Rogers,” the warm, smooth voice says, and the body attached to it reaches out to shake his hand. “Please come in. My students will be here momentarily.”

Steve reaches out to connect with warm flesh, and electric tingles move through his hand and arm in a distinctly pleasurable way. He finds his tongue to spit out some words, but it feels to him like they come out thickly and in a stutter. “Pl…please, call me Steve.”

Those blue eyes crinkle at the corners. “Only if you call me Bucky, and only if you don’t ask where the nickname came from.” He draws Steve into the room by their still-clasped hands before releasing him, and Steve ignores the little voice in his head that says _don’t let go_. 

“Bucky it is, then,” he agrees, breathless but at least not stuttering. He’s trying not to stare as Bucky sits one cheek of his rear down on the desk at the front of the room. _Get yourself together, Rogers._ Has he lost the ability to communicate? Form coherent thoughts? He’s seen good-looking guys before…just none that light a fire inside him quite like this one already has, all in the span of ten seconds. 

He’s wearing dark pants and a grey button down shirt, and all of it clings to muscles that are very clearly defined. And… _beefy_. Just the way Steve likes them. He resists the urge to lick his dry lips before he speaks.

“You’ve put me at a disadvantage, though.”

Easy laughter bubbles up out of the brunet and he scratches his head. “Really? How’s that?”

Steve shakes his head in mock sadness. “Your nickname is more fun than mine.”

Another brilliant smile comes his way as Bucky indicates the chair behind his desk with one hand, inviting Steve to sit. “You have a cool suit, though,” he asserts, “So we’re even.”

Waving off the offer of a chair, Steve answers his smile with his own. “If you say so.” He looks down at himself. He’s wearing the blue suit with the red and white stripes over the abdomen. He actually prefers his stealth suit, but young children respond more to this one. And Bucky just called it _cool_. He looks up again when the other man continues. 

“I really like the dark one, though. Sexy.”

Now Steve definitely could choke on his tongue. “You…what?”

OK, so no one ever called Steve Rogers a player. His entire body flushes with pleasure. Bucky is flirting with him? His eyes are merry, but his words are silky, almost seductive the way the word _sexy_ rolled off his tongue, and Steve doesn’t know the man well enough to know how to take this. Maybe he’s just flirty by nature, and it doesn’t really mean anything. Those pretty lips purse in amusement; apparently Bucky thinks it’s funny having Captain America so flummoxed.

“I should warn you, there’s a healthy dose of hero worship in this room.”

Though he can feel his cheeks redden even more, Steve can’t look away from such so much sex appeal. Taking compliments well, though, that’s another thing. “Kids, yeah…their hearts are so pure,” he states, trying to deflect the attention from himself.

Bucky leans back, hands on his desk behind him and one long, lean leg crossed over the other at the ankle. “True…but I wasn’t talking about the kids,” he quips with a crooked grin, and Steve’s about gone.

His ears burn and his stomach flips. Even slow on the uptake as he is, seeing that cheeky grin is enough to launch a million butterflies inside his gut, all flapping around in tight circles. He hasn’t felt this much instant attraction for someone in a very long time. He wants to do THINGS to this man. Indecent, filthy things he shouldn’t be thinking about when the room is about to fill up with children. Children he won’t be able to stand in front of soon, if he continues with this crazy train of thought. 

“Oh,” he mumbles instead, and is glad for a distraction when the door suddenly is jammed with kids, all squirming past each other to get into the room, with loud exclamations and squeals of excitement at seeing him. 

Bucky immediately takes charge, jumping off his desk to wrangle them all into their seats. Steve uses the time to settle himself back down and take in the room, since so far he hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away from its teacher. The walls are covered with colorful posters, banners and the like. It’s energetic but not in a distracting way. There’s a little corner for reading with squishy bean bag chairs, and another more technological corner with two desktop computers. He likes Bucky’s choices at once. And he can usually tell right away if a person is good with kids or not; you’d figure a teacher would automatically fall into the “good” category, but some are still better than others. Bucky radiates warmth and affection when he looks at these tiny humans, and it’s endearing as hell. 

“Quiet down, please, everyone!” he states authoritatively, and the group of about twenty children instantly start to tone it down, a show of the respect he garners from them. “Now remember what we talked about,” he goes on, returning to the front of the room to stand next to Steve, who is working hard not to notice that they are nearly the same height, and that Bucky’s bulk, though not equal to his own, measures up pretty nicely. 

“We’re all going to raise our hands to ask questions, and we’re going to use our inside voices.” Bucky glances at Steve again, smiling broadly. “Now, who can tell me the name of our esteemed visitor?”

About a dozen hands shoot up into the air, and a little boy in the front row attests loudly, “I KNOW WHO OUR STEAMY VISITOR IS!”

Steve sneaks a peak at Bucky, who is biting his lip to stop himself from laughing. “ _Esteemed_ visitor, Jacob,” he corrects gently, “But go ahead.”

Jacob, a tiny blond boy who is himself wearing a costume that looks a lot like Steve’s outfit, returns in a voice slightly less obnoxiously loud than his first one, “IT’S CAPTAIN AMERICA!”

Looking around the room makes Steve smile; many of the children are dressed up as Avengers or as soldiers, in costumes presumably left over from Halloween. There are several Caps in sight, one Hulk, two Iron Mans, and a girl with long, blonde hair dressed as Thor, complete with red cape and hammer. That makes him smile so hard his face hurts. 

Bucky finishes up his introduction and turns the floor over to Steve, sitting back down on the front edge of his desk to allow him to field inquiries. And field them he does…the children ask endless questions and are curious about a million different things, filling up all of their time quickly. Before Steve knows it, he needs to move on to the next classroom.

This time, though, it is with a pang of regret. Regret that Bucky will not be in any other classrooms with him. Regret that he’ll have no other reason to interact with him. How can he find him again later? This _can’t_ be the only time they meet, it just _can’t_. 

Steve is not a lucky man, it seems, for the aide is back at the door to collect him and shepherd him to the next classroom before he has time to formulate a real plan. 

Undeterred, as he reaches for Bucky’s hand to shake it again he fishes a little. “So, I don’t get to talk to the teachers much. Maybe I can come back later?” 

Despite that incredibly vague overture, Bucky smiles (those dimples!) as he clasps Steve’s hand. “That would be fun—I’ve got a few questions of my own to ask. I’m here till the end of the day.”

Gulping air, Steve allows himself to be led away. Questions! What kind of questions? _Personal_ questions? God, he hopes so. He’s got to get back to this spot once the school day is over. That shouldn’t be too hard, since he’s not scheduled to be in any classrooms just before school lets out. His day was designed that way to give him time to be out the door before the hallways were jam-packed with kids rushing around, but to hell with that. He’ll put up a tent and wait outside Bucky’s classroom until the final bell rings, if that’s what it takes. He’s got it all worked out…

\--

Turns out, Steve doesn’t need to plot and scheme to get to see Bucky again at the end of the day, nor is he as unlucky as he thought. After his last classroom session ends, the aide points him back in the direction of the teacher’s lounge so he can change out of his suit. When he pushes open the door, one weary-looking teacher gives him a friendly wave as she exits past him. 

The only other occupant of the room is seated at a small round table, laptop open in front of him and pen gripped firmly between two luscious, plump lips. _Nnggg_ , Steve thinks, and Bucky raises his eyes to Steve’s. The pen immediately loses traction inside his mouth and falls to the table. 

“Well, if it isn’t our steamy visitor,” he teases, and a wide smile crosses his face when Steve turns pink.

He strides into the room and lets the door shut behind him. “No kids this period?”

“Art class.”

When Steve draws near the table he motions to the seat on the other side from Bucky and asks, “May I?”

“You may!” Bucky states dramatically, then cocks his head to the side and takes in Steve’s outfit again. “But do you want to change out of that first? I’m guessing that’s why you came in here.”

Glancing down at himself, Steve nods. “Yeah, I do want to change.” His eyebrows lift as he looks back to the brunet. “You won’t disappear on me?”

“Not a chance.” Bucky shuts his laptop and folds his hands together on top of it. “Gives me a minute to mentally compile my list of questions.”

“Ohhhh, the questions,” Steve breathes, feeling his heart skip a beat. Just the idea that Bucky _wants_ to talk to him is making his heart pitter patter. There’s a bit of twitching going on elsewhere as well, but he tries to squash that down to avoid the horror of getting a hard on while in a grade school. Resting both hands on the hard plastic back of the chair in front of him, he asks, “What category do these questions of yours fall under? Professional or personal?” _Please say personal, please say personal…_

A tiny smile plays around Bucky’s lips. “Personal. Definitely personal.”

 _Yissssssss._ “My favorite,” Steve replies, trying to play it cool even though he wants to dance a jig. “Be right back,” he promises, then turns and crosses the room, plucking his backpack from a row of lockers inset into the wall and heading to the bathroom, a small, single-occupant affair. 

Steve has already gotten the top sections of his suit off and his boots when he hears the outer door to the teacher’s lounge open and shut; footsteps and a male voice carry through his door. 

“Hey Bucky, have you found a date yet for Ross’s party next weekend?”

The voice sounds familiar but Steve can’t quite place it, not until after Bucky responds in a tired voice.

“None of your damn business, Brock.”

There is a disdainful laugh. “I’ll take that as a _no_. Actually I forgot who I was talking to, why’d I even bother asking?”

“Because you’re an asshole?”

Silently Steve chuckles as he pulls off a pant leg. He’s not trying to be rude and listen in, but the voices would carry quite plainly through the cheap, hollow wooden door even without his enhanced hearing. He knows now who the mystery man is, it’s the assistant principal who made him so uncomfortable this morning. Sounds like he and Bucky know each other pretty well, for Bucky to be swearing like that, and for such an intimate question to be asked—and Bucky’s not a fan of the man, either? 

“I hear Ross has a dog. If you’re lucky, maybe you can catch him under the mistletoe and get in a few wet kisses. That’s probably more action than you’ve seen in the last year, huh Buck?”

The voice has a cruel edge. This isn’t two friends giving each other a hard time. It’s _personal_. Steve grits his teeth. The part of him that hates bullies wants to charge out there and come to Bucky’s defense, but A) Bucky can probably take care of himself, and B) Steve’s not wearing pants. 

Bucky’s returning words are cold and unforgiving. “Don’t call me that. And also, fuck off.”

“But you always liked that name. Still haven’t gotten over me yet, have you,” Brock croons with a fake sweetness in his tone, and Steve stiffens, one leg thrust into his jeans.

Bucky and Brock _dated_? This is really none of his business. He shouldn’t be hearing this. Any decent person would put a stop to it. Any _decent_ person wouldn’t be talking to Bucky like this in the first place. Maybe this Brock guy hasn’t heard him shuffling around in the bathroom and doesn’t even know he’s there. He hops over to the toilet next to the sink and flushes it, hoping to cue the jerk in that their conversation isn’t private. 

But as the sound of the flushing toilet fades away and Steve pulls up his jeans, he hears Brock go on, unconcerned that anyone else may be in the room with them. 

“Admit it, I was the best you ever had.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re unbelievable,” Bucky says exasperatedly. “How many years ago was it? _Let it go._ ”

Steve pulls his shirt on blindly, not even caring if it’s backwards or inside out, and races to get his boots back on so he can put a stop to this, one way or another. Preferably, with his fist in Brock’s face. On the other side of the door, the dickhead _still_ won’t shut up. 

“You know, maybe I’ll ask that hottie, Cap, to the party.” Steve almost gags, only then it gets worse. “The way I hear it, he swings both ways. Maybe you could even pick up some pointers watching us.”

He can almost hear the hard eye roll from Bucky. Now while it’s true Steve _does_ swing both ways, hearing a stranger discuss his sexuality like it’s any of his damn business makes his blood boil. Forcefully he jams his suit into his backpack and prepares to bust into the other room, then bust this guy Rumlow’s head into the wall. 

“You are disgusting and seriously delusional,” Bucky is declaring while Steve packs up. “Get a grip on yourself.”

“Oh, I’d much rather _he_ get a grip on me, if you know what I mean,” Brock simpers, and Steve can just imagine the leer on his face. The leer he wants to wipe off with a quick uppercut. 

But as he grabs the door handle, he gets a better idea…

“He knows what you mean,” he announces dryly, after pulling open the door. A shocked Brock whirls around when he hears Steve’s voice. “Only you’re too late,” Steve baits him, stalking towards them both with his silent, _I’m on the hunt_ walk. “Bucky already asked me to be his date. And I said yes.” 

Brock’s mouth falls open and his eyes practically bug out of his head. It’s _fantastic._ Out of the corner of his eye, Steve can see another similar but less shocked, more adorable expression on Bucky’s face. Brock hasn’t seen it, since he hasn’t turned away and his eyes haven’t dropped from Steve’s face yet; Steve wants to keep it that way to give Bucky a second to recover. As he prowls forward, closer to them, he can see the fear in Brock’s eyes…fear that he’s about to get punched out by Captain America.

But Steve sidesteps him neatly, just before running into him. “Why don’t you run along now and find your own date,” he says as he moves dismissively past the dipshit in the room. His head cants to one side. “Maybe Principal Ross’s dog is still available.”

After rounding Brock, putting his back to him in a clear way of saying _I’m done with you_ , Steve drops his backpack on the floor and takes the chair he was going to sit in before he and Bucky were so rudely interrupted. He doesn’t look at Brock again, nor does Bucky. Bucky, in fact, has a glorious smile on his face, and has eyes only for Steve. 

There is a brief moment of silence, during which Steve imagines Brock is weighing his options, before he hears a muttered curse come from his general direction. Then rapid footsteps make for the door, and Steve and Bucky are alone once more.

As soon as the door shuts, a burst of short giggles erupts out of Bucky. “I take it you could hear our conversation,” he hums through his smile. “He’s not always such a prick, but God, his face when you said that…” he smiles, nose crinkled up beautifully, “…that was priceless.” 

Steve smiles back, but then becomes somber. “I’m sorry for taking such a huge liberty,” he allows, waving one hand around. “I just couldn’t take _him_ anymore.” 

“You hear me complaining?” Bucky runs a hand through his hair, regards Steve silently for a moment, then grins. “You just can’t stop yourself from saving people, can you.” 

Steve gives him a pointed look, eyebrows raised.

“Oh, that wasn’t a complaint. Just an observation.” 

Steve receives another smile, and is hit with another wave of _want_. Fuck, how he wants to get this man alone in a more private setting and have his way with him. Then let Bucky have his way with Steve. Then do it all over again. On multiple nights. Talk about a party…

It’s just then he realizes just what a liberty it was that he took, and just what it entails. Not that he would _mind_ going to a party with Bucky, but what if Bucky doesn’t want that? What if Bucky actually already has a date, and just didn’t want to tell that to his ex? He winces slightly and leans forward, forearms on the table. 

“I really am sorry, that was so presumptuous of me…” he shakes his head, and Bucky picks up before he can continue.

“Presumptuous maybe, but also correct. I _don’t_ have a date for the party, and I’ve been taking a lot of crap for it all around.” Bucky’s eyes roll to the ceiling. “Everyone around me wants to fix me up with their mom’s neighbor’s attractive son.”

Steve laughs at the cute, fed-up expression on his face. A light bulb goes off over his head. Speaking of parties and dates…

“I know what you mean,” he confesses. “Tony Stark is having a holiday party three weekends from now, and he's going to rake me over the coals for not having a date either.” He pauses and sneaks a deep breath. “Maybe we could help each other out?”

Bucky’s eyes widen. “You mean like, be each other’s pretend boyfriends for our parties? That’s a great idea!”

Steve bites down on the inside of his lip. Actually, he hadn’t meant to suggest a _pretend_ anything, but Bucky is plainly warming to the idea more with each passing second. 

"It's perfect. Then we can both avoid people sticking their noses into our business. And I can be very convincing. Sprig of mistletoe, couple of schmoopy kisses later and he won't suspect a thing."

Steve's not sure what schmoopy actually means, but he hopes it involves lots of tongue. "Mistletoe is guaranteed. Tony would never miss an opportunity for embarrassment."

Bucky laughs at that, a delightful, engaging sound. “Stark probably throws a really swanky party, right? I promise I clean up well,” he jokes in a self-deprecating way.

“I have no doubt about that.” Imagining Bucky, handsome as can be in a suit or a tux is giving Steve heart palpitations. 

Bucky looks pleased at his response, then instantly pensive, holding a hand out in supplication. “And look, no strings attached…I’m not trying to rope you into anything else just because you’re famous. And hot.” Then his hand drops to the table and he _winks_. 

Steve’s mouth falls open, just a millimeter. Once again, Bucky is something of an enigma to him. He’s so earnest, the way he looked worried Steve would think he was being used… and yet the way his eyes travelled down Steve’s chest and back up after that wink, smoldering with fire, is just about setting Steve’s pants on fire. What is he getting himself into? Bucky just said he thinks he’s hot…but also just said he doesn’t want anything more. Can Steve handle two evenings around this exquisite knockout _without_ wanting more? 

He’d like to find out, and not have to find out, both at the same time. Bucky is looking at him expectantly, so he clears his throat and stutters out, “I…I never thought that. I’m the one who suggested it, remember?”

“Well then, I’d be happy to go to your Christmas party with you, and you can come with me to mine!” Bucky’s eyes glimmer at him in the fluorescent lighting. “We’d make a cute couple, you know.”

“Yeah, we would,” Steve agrees, chest about to burst, not knowing how to say he’s interested in being a _real_ couple and not a fake one. 

“So it’s settled then,” Bucky affirms enthusiastically, reaching over his laptop to clasp Steve’s forearm and give it a squeeze. 

Steve looks at Bucky’s hand on his arm, reveling in the warmth and soft feel of it, and back to Bucky. He can’t help the eager smile that spreads across his own face, despite his confusion.

“It’s settled.”


	2. The Night Is Young

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve Rogers just wants to get through Christmas without being browbeaten to death by Tony and his other so-called friends for not having a love life to speak of. Then he meets Bucky Barnes, the sexiest school teacher he's ever seen, and manages to get himself involved in a fake boyfriend scheme, all in the same day. Bucky assures him it's the perfect ploy to help them both avoid unwanted criticism (and set-ups) during the stressful holiday season...only problem is, this is one set-up Steve wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays peeps! I meant for chapter three to be done by Christmas, but you know, best laid plans and all... maybe New Years. :-) Thanks all for reading, and if anyone is migrating over to Dreamwidth because of the great tumblr mess, I just got an account that I don't know what to do with yet. lambchop33. :-)

The Night Is Young

Even if he appeared calm on the outside, Bucky Barnes was screaming on the inside. The mental equivalent of full, open-throat screaming. 

That’s because _Captain America_ was visiting _his_ classroom, looking so handsome and being so freaking _sweet_ to his kids, it made him want to scream. Or cry. Cry, or start dry humping the man’s leg, one or all of the above. 

When it comes down to it he’s torn between unabashed adoration and unbridled lust, because _Steve Rogers_ , personification of all that is good and pure in the world, is also quite possibly the hottest human being Bucky has ever seen. A man who looked like that could easily turn into a huge douche bag, but Steve was so nice, so down-to-earth, it was immediately disarming. And that _body_ , sweet jesus. Those _muscles_. Bucky wanted to tear into them with his teeth right then and there, in the middle of his classroom. 

It was hard to keep a lid on his yearning, and he couldn’t resist at least a _little_ bit of flirting, but all in all he feels good about the classroom visit, like he kept it on a mostly professional level. Well, okay, probably telling him his stealth suit was sexy was not the most professional thing to say, but it was _true_. And it was so cute the way Steve looked like he was about to swallow his tongue. Seriously, men and women had to flirt with him ALL the time, right? Who wouldn’t flirt with _that?_ You’d think the man would be used to it by now.

Still, it had gone well beyond his expectations, really into fantasy territory, for Steve to ask him about meeting up later in the day. He didn’t want to read too much into it, because maybe he’d asked other teachers the same thing, you never knew. Maybe he was the studious type who liked to conference at the end of a day. When Steve had walked into the teacher’s lounge and they were alone together, Bucky felt like he’d hit the jackpot. 

Of course, then Brock had to come in and fucking ruin it, like the asshole he was. Aside from the mortification he’d felt at having his dating history revealed to the man he was actively crushing on, it felt like one of the many daydreams he’d had since finding out Captain America would be coming to his school (well, almost). Bucky possessed an active imagination, and with fuel like Steve Rogers? You’d better believe his brain revved to life and ran with that. 

In his mind, invariably the two of them would meet and immediately hit it off, leading to various iterations of them dating and falling in love, or having a secret, sexy tryst, or at the very least a heated, passionate quickie in the janitor’s closet (okay, he wasn’t proud of that one, but damn, a man’s gotta have something to get him through lonely nights, geez). So when Steve hinted at needing a date for his own Christmas party, Bucky jumped on the chance. 

That’s what made it _almost_ like his daydreams. In those, the wording was a trifle different; “helping each other out” at their respective parties wasn’t exactly the most romantic thing to hear, but Bucky could work with it. Even if it was fake dating, he still had TWO dates lined up with the knockout blond, and he did NOT plan on squandering them. After all, a lot could happen at two parties. There would be lots of time for fake couple stuff, like canoodling and touching. Lots of time for talking and getting to know each other, and deciding that the fake stuff was just the prelude to a real relationship.

Which was why, two days after Steve’s field trip to Bucky’s class, Bucky is incredibly nervous. What if they _don’t_ hit it off? What if they’re not really compatible, and Steve regrets inviting Bucky to his party? He would be too much of a gentleman to say anything, Bucky was sure, and then they’d spend the evening merely pretending to be enjoying themselves before Bucky got the polite shove-off and would never see him again. 

“Why do you think he’d give you the shove-off?” Darcy asks, sitting next to him and munching on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. There are teachers at another table in the lounge, with another conversation going on separate from theirs, so they’re free to speak their minds. 

Looking sideways at her, Bucky purses his lips. “You know, just because you teach second grade doesn’t mean you have to eat like a second grader.”

On the other side of the table, Jane laughs and flips her dark ponytail behind her head. “She’s eating as many as she can now because we heard next year we’ve got a kindergartner coming in with a peanut allergy so bad, the whole school’s gonna have to be pretty much peanut-free.”

“And don’t change the subject,” Darcy scolds, hitting him on the arm with her free hand. “Maybe he’s your soul mate.”

Groaning, Bucky buries his head in his arms on the table. He’d already finished his chicken salad sandwich and Greek yogurt, and was debating whether or not to save his banana for later when the subject of Steve and the party came up. Peaking up at the pair of women, his fellow second grade instructors and the closest friends he has in the world, he says timidly, “Soul mate? Do you know just how far out of my league he is?”

That sentiment is, of course, met with shock and derision. 

“Whaddya mean, out of your league?” Darcy demands. “Just because you’re a school teacher? That is so shallow.”

“WHAT? Come on, Bucky, don’t sell yourself short, you’re a great catch,” Jane adds, a bit more sympathetically.

Sighing, Bucky picks his head back up. “I just mean, look at him, and look at me. He’s a war hero, an icon. He’s gorgeous, and _selfless_ , and amazing. He’s AMAZING. He’s probably got men and women throwing themselves at him every day. He could have _anyone_ in the world. Why would he want me?”

“Shut the fuck _up_ , Bucky. Not listening.” Darcy puts her hands over her ears. “I don’t know what’s got you so maudlin today, but it’s not like you at all,” she adds resolutely, shaking her head. 

Sighing again, Bucky takes in her big eyes and long, dark, wavy hair as he thinks. She’s right about one thing; he’s usually not an insecure person, but then again he’s never been on a date with anyone like Steve. 

“Guess I’m just nervous.” 

Jane pats his forearm. “You’re way overthinking this, honey. Don’t put so much pressure on yourself; it’s just a party.”

At only five foot three inches in height, Jane is petite in stature but with a heart as big as anyone’s, and her words were always kind. Putting on a brave face, Bucky tries to squash down his sudden anxiety and just relax already. He peels open his banana and takes a giant bite. They’re right, it’s just a party.

\--

Bucky is still telling himself that later on in the day, when he’s at home and his cell phone is going off like a bomb in his hand, buzzing with a message from Steve. They had exchanged phone numbers for planning purposes, and Bucky is perfectly okay with admitting he is keeping Steve’s number for eternity. He looks down at the oblong box in his hand, vibrating insistently. 

_Hey, it’s Steve. Is your party casual dress? Do you want to meet somewhere beforehand?_

A few seconds later another message comes through. _p.s. did I mention I’m really glad we met the other day?_

A warm, satisfied feeling spreads though Bucky, like honey moving slowly over fresh bread. He _had_ mentioned that, the same day they met. Bucky likes the sound of it, even though Steve may mean that in a much more practical way than Bucky wants him to. As in, glad because now he doesn’t have to go to his party alone, not glad because he’s as enamored of Bucky as Bucky is of him. Whatever the intent is, it’s still a nice sentiment, and Bucky quickly types back a simple reply. 

Bucky: _I am too. Yes, party is casual. Yes, if you like you can drive to my house so we can go together. Everett doesn’t live far from me._

Steve: _What will you be wearing to party?_

Bucky sucks his bottom lip between his teeth as he thinks about this one. _Probably jeans and a sweater?_ He hasn’t exactly made up his mind, but that will give Steve enough of an idea to go on. 

He has to laugh when a minute later Steve sends back a message that says, _Should I wear this?_ with a picture of an ugly Christmas sweater, a red, sequined monstrosity with a gaudy green Christmas tree and plenty of sparkles.

 _I don’t think it goes with your eyes_ , he types back, smiling.

Steve: _Darn, thought I was on to something there._

Bucky smiles to himself again. Only Steve could say _darn_ and have it be so cute. He sends back, _You’d HAVE to be on something to wear that._

Steve: _I sense resistance. So that’s a no?_

This time Bucky laughs out loud. Steve having a sense of humor wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibilities, but the public never really got to see that side of him, so Bucky was therefore pleasantly surprised. His fingers fly over his phone. 

_I might have to leave you in the car if you show up in that._

Steve: _Tsk. Ugly sweater discrimination. So disappointing._

_I’ll make it up to you._ Bucky hits send without even thinking about what the reply to that may be, and reddens a bit when Steve sends back, 

_Oh? What’d you have in mind?_

Here he hesitates. How much of a risk is he willing to take? He thinks of a few replies, centered mostly on things he’d _like_ to do to Captain America, but discards them as being too forward, too risqué, too much to send to a guy he hasn’t actually gotten physical with yet.

 _Something involving a lot of bodily contact._ He closes his eyes and hits send before he regrets it and changes his mind. There. That could be interpreted as something as innocent as a hug, or as something far less innocent. How will Steve take it?

Part of him hopes Steve will run with this and start sexting with him, though another part of his brain realizes this is unlikely, because A) they hardly know each other and Steve seems like the old-fashioned type, and B) this isn’t even a _real_ date. He has to remind himself that since Steve is being so friendly. _Fake date_. Steve’s answering message isn’t as wild as his fantasy would have it, but neither is it disappointing. 

Steve: _You’ve piqued my interest. Can’t wait to see you this weekend._

A little thrill of pleasure runs through him as he reads the words, then re-reads them. That doesn’t sound like something someone going on a pretend date would say, does it? He needs back-up, so he texts Darcy and tells her how their conversation went. 

Darcy: _Sounds to me like he’s interested in YOU. Don’t panic, babe. You got this._

\--

Bucky is panicking. 

Steve is due to arrive at his house in ten minutes, and it’s time for full freak-out mode. He’s changed clothes four times, finally settling on an olive green waffle weave shirt because green is sort of Christmassy and compliments his skin tone well, and it won’t be as hot as a sweater, just in case the party gets toasty like parties do sometimes when there’s a lot of people all crammed into a relatively small space. 

Not that Everett Ross’s place is tiny; it’s a palace compared to Bucky’s smallish bungalow, but Bucky likes his smallish bungalow so whatever. His little Christmas tree is up and decorated and he even cleaned this morning, just in case Steve comes in and needs to use the bathroom, or they come back from the party and have a roll in the hay (it could happen, right?). 

So Bucky is freshly showered, shaved and dressed, all personal hygiene tasks completed, and his wavy hair is even semi-behaving. He’s ready to go, and now that he has nothing left to do, his nerves are running roughshod all over him. Bleah. He’s thinking of sweeping the hallway again when his doorbell rings, making him jump a foot into the air. 

_He’s here!_

Making it to the door without tripping all over himself in haste, he prepares himself to be blinded by beauty and throws it open. 

He’s not prepared.

Steve stands there on the small porch, darkness all around him but his long, muscled form highlighted by the porch light. His blond hair glints softly. He’s wearing jeans and a leather jacket that’s open, giving a peek of a royal blue button down shirt underneath it. Fuck, he looks good in jeans. And leather. Everything. Bucky’s mouth waters on sight. 

“Steve!” he exclaims, stepping back to allow him room to enter. “Come on in and I’ll grab my coat.”

“Hey, thanks,” Steve offers as he steps in behind Bucky. “Sorry I’m a little early. Wasn’t sure how long it would take to get here with traffic, you know?” 

“Better early than late,” Bucky murmurs out of habit, mind whirling. Damn, this is going to be harder than he thought, not treating this like a bona fide date. But on the plus side, his nerves have already settled, being in Steve’s easy presence. His friends were right, he was blowing things up way out of proportion. Worrying about the possibilities was worse than how he actually feels; he’s not flipping out like he feared he would. He partially closes the door, figuring they’re leaving in a minute anyway, and pulls open the closet door adjacent to the front hall.

Behind him, Steve chuckles. “You sound like Bruce,” he states, sounding amused. “You look great, by the way.”

Fishing out his own black, leather jacket, Bucky turns and can’t help smiling. “Not as good as you do. Who’s Bruce?”

Steve jams his hands in his jacket pockets and blushes, though Bucky can’t tell if it’s because he was being complimented, or because he was name-dropping without really meaning to. “Bruce Banner. You’ll meet him at Tony’s party.”

“Oh. Right.” Bucky has to work at appearing nonchalant about the idea he will soon be meeting the other Avengers; he pulls on his coat and gestures to the door. “Ready to go?”

“Yep.”

After grabbing a tray of cheese and crackers wrapped in cellophane from a side table, his offering for the party, they go out through the front door. The garage is unattached so Bucky has his car parked in the driveway close to one edge, leaving enough room for Steve to leave his bike next to it. 

It’s only a ten minute drive from his house to his principal’s, but the homes get bigger and more spaced out the entire way there. Along the way, Steve asks him questions about his teaching history, how many guests there will be (probably fifty or sixty), and whether the party is likely to produce a lot of drunken shenanigans (possibly).

“Two years ago, the art teacher jumped on top of the pool table and started twerking to Lady Gaga, before the phys ed teacher pulled her down.”

“Is that right?” Steve had looked amused rather than disapproving, so Bucky gathered he just wanted to know what he was getting himself into, rather than pass any judgment about drunken shenanigans, which Bucky was all for. They worked hard all year, and this was one of a few opportunities for them all to get together and let their hair down, so to speak. 

What Steve carefully avoided bringing up, which Bucky was eternally thankful for, was Brock. He figured it was going to come up eventually, because the dickhead would surely be there, but as long as he could avoid talking about him, he would. 

Before Bucky knows it they reach their destination, pulling onto a street already full of parked cars. Everett’s house is probably 3,500 square feet of beautiful Spanish architecture, a two story home with twinkling white lights strung across the roofline and long porch. He can see it in the distance, but they have to park down about a hundred yards and walk. Bucky timed it that way purposefully, to avoid getting there early in case Brock was there early, too. 

Steve doesn’t seem to mind the walk, coming around the car to fall into stride right next to Bucky. He had pulled out the cheese tray from the back seat before Bucky even had a chance to, and is carrying it with both hands, tucked into his belly. It’s chilly but there’s just a light dusting of snow on the grass and nothing covering the sidewalks, so the trek is easy. 

Bucky gets a fluttery sensation in his own belly, with Steve walking so close to him, and an excited feeling. He gets to have Steve _all evening_ , hot damn! Turning his head slyly, he takes in Steve’s profile as the soldier is examining the house and its surroundings, ever vigilant. His body posture is relaxed, his strides even and unrushed, but his eyes alertly scan right, left, up and down, making Bucky smile a bit. 

“Everything seem on the up and up, Captain?”

Steve laughs and looks to Bucky, knowing he is completely busted. “I promise not to pat anybody down.” 

“Awww. Not even me?” Bucky teases, knocking his elbow into Steve’s. 

It’s dark out but Bucky swears there are little spots of color high on Steve’s cheekbones where he’s blushing, and Bucky bites his lip. Too much? He can’t help being a flirt, though…he _loves_ flirting, but he doesn’t do it with everyone, only guys he really likes. Steve? Shit, he’d give an arm or leg to feel those arms around him, those hands moving up and down over his body. 

Steve recovers rapidly, throwing his elbow back against Bucky’s. “Depends on whether or not you’re demonstrating any suspicious behavior.”

“What’s considered suspicious behavior? Asking for a friend.”

Steve actually giggles before he replies, and it’s the most fantastic sound Bucky has ever heard. “Use your imagination.”

That brings up a belly laugh from Bucky. “I’m just gonna warn you now, it’s a prerequisite for primary school teachers to have highly active imaginations, Steve.”

“Good to know,” Steve says softly, and Bucky does a double take, swearing he sees Steve’s gaze drop down over his body and back up. Before he can form any coherent thoughts, female voices ring out, getting closer to them but from the other side of the house they are approaching. 

“Bucky! Fashionably late, as usual!”

“Bucky! Steve! Ready to party?”

It’s Darcy and Jane, who Bucky knew carpooled there together. Darcy has a bottle of wine in her hand and Jane appears to be carrying a tray full of cookies. Both are wearing dresses under their coats and high heels, dressed to the nines. 

“Ladies, got your dancing shoes on?”

They meet at the bottom of the driveway and turn up toward the house together. Steve leans into Bucky’s ear and murmurs, “Is dancing likely? You didn’t mention dancing.”

Huffing out a laugh that produces a white cloud of breath in front of him, Bucky slides one hand across the small of Steve’s back, over his jacket, and pats it. There’s probably not going to be any dancing, but now that he knows that makes Steve nervous, he can’t leave it alone. 

“Yeah, it’s part of our yearly performance review.”

“Ha, ha,” Steve responds dryly, then turns to both women. “How are you, Darcy, Jane? Nice to see you again.”

“Pleasure’s all ours,” Darcy drawls, and Bucky gives her a warning look with his eyes. Next to her, Jane giggles. 

“We’re all glad you could come, Steve.”

Darcy holds up her bottle of wine. “Hell yeah we are!” 

Bucky snorts. He knows that tone. “Darcy, you been into that wine already?”

She plows into his side, clutching at his arm. “I _may_ have had a couple of pre-boarding cocktails, if you must know, mister nosy.”

“Don’t worry, I drove,” Jane informs them as they all draw up to the front door. 

“Thanks, Jane.” Bucky pushes the doorbell and gives Darcy a little squeeze around the shoulders and a kiss on the cheek. 

Next to him, Steve is smiling and silently taking in the proceedings. The door opens and they are ushered inside by Everett himself, who also is casually dressed in jeans and a hideous Christmas sweater, covered in reindeer, Santa’s sleigh, and jolly St. Nick himself. Steve’s eyes meet Bucky’s and he raises his eyebrows suggestively while Everett is busy greeting the ladies. 

“See? Should’ve worn it,” he whispers, bringing his mouth close to Bucky’s ear.

Shaking his head, Bucky leans in just as close and whispers back, “No, no you shouldn’t have.”

Steve smells good. Really good. Before Bucky has much of a chance to savor that, Everett is welcoming them, shaking hands with Steve and telling them to make themselves at home and enjoy themselves. Coats can go in the study right there, (which leads to a quick shuffle of trays and a deposit of coats into an already huge pile on top of a giant sized mahogany desk) and, oh, the kitchen is this way. 

They are escorted in past a sunken living room with a tall Christmas tree in one corner into a large kitchen that is open to an even larger great room. A huge Christmas tree is situated in front of the bay window, looking stately and magnificent with white lights and gold and silver ornaments. There are probably thirty to forty people there already, scattered between the rooms, and Bucky knows there is a game room in the full sized basement that also will be filled with party-goers. 

In attendance is the school’s staff, both teachers and administration, and their significant others, most of whom Bucky has known for years; their little group is greeted frequently as they move deeper into the home. The volume of noise is high, with so many guests there already. Bucky feels like he smiles and says hello a million times. 

He looks around as they walk; his principal really outdid himself with the holiday decorations this year. Aside from the Christmas trees, everywhere Bucky looks are pine boughs lit up with more white fairy lights, and opulent gold and silver ribbons tied into bows. They adorn every table, while fragrant pine garlands are strung across doorways, up the staircase, and over banks of windows. 

The festive atmosphere combined with the fact that Bucky already is comfortable with everyone there helps to relax him even more. He’s reasonably sure these people won’t make nuisances of themselves asking for pictures or autographs from Captain America, (after all, they met him at the school already) so his main concern is that while they’re all friends of his, they’re really strangers to Steve, and he doesn’t want even a fake dating partner to feel awkward or alone. 

What he wants most is to find somewhere relatively quiet so they can talk. Somewhere they won’t be interrupted a lot. Somewhere Brock won’t find them. Darcy and Jane are beckoned over to the kitchen table, where Bucky sees the first and third grade teachers are seated and a game of Cards Against Humanity is just about to begin. Cookies and the cheese tray are deposited on the long kitchen island, where a host of other goodies is laid out; Jane waves a quick good-bye and gives Bucky’s hand a squeeze before leaving them. Darcy and her wine bottle are already long gone. 

Bucky just as quickly steers Steve away from the island and the game, taking his hand and threading in and out of the crowd of people over to the wet bar where a large, clear glass punch bowl has been set up and is filled with a frothy, red liquid. They snag a couple of drinks and Bucky takes Steve’s hand again, just because he can and because he wants to. Steve’s hand feels big, and warm, and his fingers clasp Bucky’s just as enthusiastically. 

He smiles at Bucky as he is buoyed along, tethered to him and following his lead. Bucky knows exactly where he’s going, motioning with his head the direction he wants to aim for. Toward the back of the house is a sunroom that shouldn’t be too heavily populated. They reach the end of a hallway and sure enough, there are a few people mingling in the small room, but not many. The din isn’t so loud in here, and there’s a small settee that’s unoccupied. 

Bucky makes for it post haste before someone else sits down, reaching it triumphantly and flourishing an arm toward it to let Steve sit before him, which he does. Bucky parks himself as close as he can without being too obviously close. Steve turns to him immediately and compliments their surroundings. 

“Principal Ross’s home is beautiful.” 

“Yes, yes it is. He loves Christmas time,” Bucky agrees, nodding.

Steve takes a sip from his glass and then gestures around himself with it. “I haven’t seen any dogs yet.”

It takes a second for Bucky to get it, but when he does an unintentional bark of laughter escapes. “Uh, yeah. My ex isn’t always such an asshole, or at least, not to other people. I don’t know why he’s such a dick to me sometimes.”

“How long ago did you two date, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Okay, so talking about Brock first wasn’t his plan, but I guess they’re gonna do this. If Steve wants to know, then Bucky’s not going to hold back. So he tells him how it was six years ago, how Brock wasn’t even an assistant principal yet, or even at the same school he was at the time. They’d met at a teacher’s conference and were together for about half a year.

“Why’d you break up?”

Bucky swirls around the red liquid in his glass, which seems to be some sort of fruit punch mixed with Seven Up and ice cream, then spiked with rum, maybe, as he thinks. “We just weren’t good together. Or at least, I thought so. Brock didn’t take it so well. He’s been a jerk to me ever since.”

Steve frowns. “Isn’t that, like, workplace harassment or something?”

Shaking his head, Bucky licks his lips. He and Jane and Darcy had talked about this before. “I don’t think so, he’s never threatened my job or done anything punitive. We just don’t get along, that’s all. Other people have no problem with him.” That was the truth; while Brock was unpleasant with him, Bucky never felt like he was abusing his position of power, and it would be unfair to claim so. That didn’t mean he didn’t dislike how his ex-boyfriend treated him, though. 

“I’m sorry, you probably don’t really want to talk about this,” Steve says, pulling his leg further up onto the settee with him so he can face Bucky squarely. “Why don’t you ask me something uncomfortable instead?”

“Okay. Do you ever wear pajamas under your stealth suit?”

Throwing his head back, Steve laughs and shakes his head. “There’s not really room for _anything_ else under the stealth suit.”

“Anything?” Bucky quirks one eyebrow upward and smirks. 

Steve turns slightly pink, so Bucky lets him off the hook and asks another question so he doesn’t have to answer that one. It’s his turn to do the quizzing and they talk at length about Steve’s upbringing and his experiences during the war. Bucky admits to being a history geek and Steve doesn’t seem to mind opening up about his time overseas. In fact, he doesn’t seem to mind talking about anything with Bucky, and the longer their conversation goes on, the more smitten Bucky gets. 

Just the way Steve looks at him, with those blue eyes trained on him so intensely, and that smooth voice, directed at him and him alone, all of it draws him in deeper and deeper. Fake or not, it’s the most riveting conversation he’s ever had on a first date. And if Steve minds that Bucky is monopolizing his time, he doesn’t show it. 

They’ve been at it for almost an hour when Bucky realizes he is completely parched. Their drinks were consumed long ago but neither seemed to want to move from their spot. Now, though, he feels like they’ve got to get up and move, stretch their legs and get something else to drink. And eat. The food in the kitchen is calling his name, so he suggests they go grab some grub before it’s all gone. 

Falling in with that suggestion easily enough, Steve rises from the settee and follows Bucky back to the great room. Along the way they are stopped and make small talk with some of Bucky’s colleagues and also Everett’s wife, so it’s another fifteen minutes or so before they actually make it to the kitchen island and the food. Steve, of course, is a perfect gentleman to everyone they meet. He picks up two plates from a stack at one end of the island, handing one to Bucky and then plucking up some silverware as well. 

“This is really nice. Thank you for bringing me,” he states, sounding so sincere it gives Bucky the warm fuzzies. He really does work with good people, but Steve’s still got it backwards. Bucky’s the one who should be doing the thanking—Steve gave up a Saturday to come to a party with a bunch of strangers, all because he was defending Bucky, all because Bucky couldn’t get his own date. 

“Thank you for coming,” he blurts out as they start moving down the buffet line, and then gets nervous and starts word vomiting. “You’ve saved me from blind date hell.” He dumps taco salad onto his plate. “And you’d swear our staff is ninety percent professional match-makers, judging by how many of them wanted to fix me up with somebody or other.” Next some pasta salad gets ladled onto his plate. “Maybe they’ll back off for a while now.”

Steve is busy filling his own plate with food and not looking directly at Bucky, and he belatedly realizes he made it sound like the only reason he wants Steve here is for protection from would-be cupids. He’s just trying to figure out how to undo his words when things get worse. 

Brock materializes out of nowhere with a plate of his own, swaggering up and stepping between Steve and Bucky at the island. “I see you’re doing more charity work, Cap,” he sneers, grabbing a potato chip from an open bag and throwing it into his mouth. “Bucky here needs all the help he can get.”

Bucky feels his lip curl involuntarily and drops the spoon he was holding back into the cheesy potatoes, turning back to glare at Brock. Steve, who was behind him, steps away from the counter and takes Bucky’s free hand, pulling him away as well. 

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Rumlow,” he states in a serene tone, and walks away. 

Bucky follows, holding his plate with one hand and Steve’s hand with the other. He doesn’t look at Brock, and he and Steve don’t speak until they have crossed the great room to the other side, coming to a halt next to the fireplace mantel and the Christmas tree.

“Steve, I…” Bucky starts to say, but Steve cuts him off, releasing his hand just to turn to him and touch his arm gently.

“No, just forget him. Let’s go back to our conversation, okay?” He transfers the silverware he had in the hand supporting his plate, handing a fork to Bucky, who takes it gladly.

“Yes, lets. I’d much rather talk to you than think about him.”

Steve gives him a smile that could melt a glacier, eyes crinkled up around the edges. It leaves Bucky feeling flustered but warm all over as they dig into their food. Their discussion turns to cooking, which they both enjoy, and they spend a significant amount of time debating cooking techniques and what dishes they both like and don’t like to prepare. 

Other teachers approach them in turn and join in their conversation for short periods, then drift away to mingle elsewhere; Brock leaves them alone, at least for the time being. Once Bucky lost sight of him, he put him out of his mind. After they have finished their food and more drinks and have engaged in more socializing with the crowd, he suggests the two of them head downstairs to the game room for a bit of fun. 

He suspects Darcy and Jane are already down there, since he hasn’t seen them since the card game broke up. Sure enough, Bucky spots them at the pool table as soon as they reach the bottom of the staircase. The basement is finished with bright white walls and beige carpet, kind of plain but typical for a basement, and has the same decorative motif as the main floor, which livens it up a lot. 

The pool table, foosball and air hockey tables are the big attractions in the space. Also, the giant TV mounted on the wall is garnering some attention, as there is a football game on. The women are just finishing up a game of pool with another pair of teachers when Bucky and Steve approach. 

“Hey guyssss!” Darcy slurs just a touch but still seems pretty coherent. Her half-filled wine glass sits on the dark, wooden edge of the table. “We just won our third game. Wanna test your luck?”

Looking to Bucky and seeing his spirited face, Steve rubs his hands together and answers back with a fervent, “Yeah, sure!”

For the record, Bucky sucks at billiards, and so does Steve. Darcy would be decent if she was sober, which she isn’t, but Jane…as they rack ‘em up Bucky catches the devious smile on her face, but doesn’t recognize the trouble they’re in till it’s much too late. 

“Jane,” Steve complains as she sinks yet another ball, “You haven’t by any chance ever competed in billiards or played in a league, have you?”

“Why yes, Steve, as a matter of fact I have,” Jane replies sweetly.

As the tiny but talented woman rounds the table and crosses over to Bucky’s side he gasps, “What? How come I never knew that?” 

“Hahaaaaa,” Darcy laughs, leaning over the green felt of the table with both hands splayed out. “You didn’t play with us last year, remember?”

“Or the year before,” Jane adds smartly, laying her cue stick on the table to line up a shot.

Bucky groans, leaning into his own cue, which he’s got standing upright next to him. On the other side, Steve grins and shakes his head. They are beaten soundly in two games before Bucky calls retreat.

“How about a little foosball?” Steve inquires, while Darcy suckers in two more opponents from the guests in the basement with them. 

Bucky is all in. He doesn’t suck at foosball, but neither does Steve. In fact, Steve is really fucking good at foosball. He wins the first two games by a narrow margin and kicks Bucky’s ass in their third game, looking pretty sexy while doing so, to boot. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbow and Bucky swears his forearms are the most sensual ones he’s ever seen. 

It’s really difficult concentrating on making shots, he’s so captivated by watching Steve move. He puts his whole body into it, surging forward and swiveling his hips, and then there’s that massive _chest_! Bucky can easily imagine himself underneath that chest, being pinned down on a bed by those arms. Being kissed silly by those lips. Which might be part of the reason he is completely destroyed in their third game. 

After Steve scores his final point, Bucky groans and rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “I think you’re cheating. How are you cheating?”

Steve grins at him and rests both palms on the edge of the table, leaning forward on them. “Maybe I just have excellent foosball skills.”

“Or you’re cheating,” Bucky jokes, drifting around the side of the table closer to Steve and resting his derriere against it.

“Hmmm,” Steve presses his lips together and puts his index finger to them. “You know that suspicious behavior we were talking about earlier? Unfounded accusations may count.” 

“Oh, yeah? Then I surrender myself for questioning,” Bucky returns mischievously. 

Shaking his head gravely, Steve sidles closer up to Bucky’s side. “This offense may require some form of punishment.”

“Okay, but we can’t miss the line dancing competition. I think it starts upstairs in ten.”

“Ohhhhh,” Steve tilts his head and looks down at him reproachfully. “Now that definitely deserves some punishment.”

Turning to face him directly, Bucky drops his tone to a more sultry level. “You gonna give me what I deserve, Captain?”

He half means it to be teasing, half suggestive, but feels it all the way down to his toes when Steve’s face changes for an instant to something dangerous, almost predatory, before settling into amusement. 

“Night’s still young, isn’t it.”

 _Ahhhhhhhhhhhh_ , he likes that answer. He likes it a lot. Maybe the flirting is paying off. Maybe Steve _is_ glad they met, for more than just camouflage purposes. Maybe he’s going to get that bodily contact he craves so much. He’s just about to open his mouth and do some exploring into that possibility when Darcy practically bowls him over, with Jane not far behind. 

“Bucky baby,” she coos, hanging on his neck, “Come back upstairs with us. We’re gonna play Heads Up on Sherri’s cell phone.”

“I’ve had enough of losing at games for one night,” he declines, looking over at Steve and raising his eyebrows for some input. When Steve nods agreeably he adds, “But we’ll come back upstairs. I haven’t had any of Jane’s cookies yet.”

“You haven’t?” Jane asks in surprise. “I made the peanut butter ones with chocolate kisses in them, the ones you like.” She turns to Steve. “Did you have any dessert yet?”

“No, not yet,” he answers, shaking his head. “But I plan to.”

 _I’ll give you dessert_ , Bucky thinks, smiling at him and wishing he could insert a double meaning there, as he disentangles himself from a tipsy Darcy in order to climb the stairs unimpeded. 

All four troop back upstairs together but split off then, with the women staying in the great room for Heads Up, and the men migrating to the living room, where it will still be populated but less chaotic. Bucky, of course, first grabbed a plate of cookies and assorted other dessert items. 

Steve doesn’t take a plate, seemingly preferring to mooch off of Bucky’s. That’s pretty okay with the brunet, though. He holds the plate up between them while he eats and is happy to stay close to Steve and share. Everett joins them in the living room and they get into a lively discussion on the merits of the college football playoff system, a favorite topic of Bucky and his principal. 

The Avenger in the room seems fairly knowledgeable too, and Bucky enjoys hearing his opinion, even if it’s wrong. Clearly, the SEC gets preferential treatment in the current system, and no one is going to change his mind on that. While they talk the room starts to thin out as people retire for the evening, and all stop by to say goodnight to Everett and thank him for the party. 

Eventually Everett is led away by his wife to go tend to some sort of ice cube situation in the kitchen and the two men are left to themselves. There are still a few of Bucky’s co-workers with them, standing or sitting and chatting animatedly. Steve and Bucky are standing at one end of the room, leisurely partaking in their sweets. Bucky has just plunked a piece of chocolate fudge into his mouth when Steve informs him nonchalantly, “Not that you have to do anything about it, but Brock has been staring at you from the other side of the room for the last ten minutes.” 

He thieves a delicious looking chocolate kringle cookie from their shared plate and pops it into his mouth, making it pretty near impossible for Bucky to concentrate on anything else. He does groan out an “Uggggh” and make a face, but doesn’t even bother trying to see what Brock is doing. For one thing, his back is to the room and he doesn’t want to make it obvious he’s looking by turning around, and two, it’s much more appealing watching Steve’s mouth move as he chews and swallows his cookie. 

“Are you sure he’s not staring at you? He’s probably staring at you.”

“Nope.” Steve’s blond head shifts left and right. “Have you ever considered the possibility he wants you back?”

Bucky chokes on the second piece of fudge he has stuffed into his mouth. “What? No. What in the world makes you think that?” he says in a muffled, fudgy voice.

One of Steve’s eyebrows quirks upward. “You said he didn’t take the break-up well.”

Bucky swallows so he can speak clearly. “Yeah, but he’s had years and years to get it through his thick skull that it’s over.”

That’s blunt, but seriously, he’s been done with their relationship for forever. Is it even possible Steve is right? Brock’s been a dick to him for this long because he’s still sore about their break-up and hasn’t moved on? Seems far-fetched to Bucky.

“So, you don’t want to reconcile and get back together?”

“Fuck no!” Bucky spits out, without hesitation. No fucking way. 

The pleased expression that comes over Steve’s face is intriguing to say the least, and totally distracting. It gives him an incredibly tingly feeling inside. Could Steve really be interested in him? Like, for _real_ interested? They have been having a great time together, in Bucky’s opinion. Aside from the strong physical attraction he feels, Steve is smart and honest, considerate and sweet. Highly qualified in the boyfriend department. 

“Well, he can’t stop staring at you, and he doesn’t look happy,” Steve affirms, and Bucky can see his eyes shift almost imperceptibly to the middle of the room and back to Bucky’s. “That suggests he’s jealous of seeing you with someone else.”

“Maybe he thinks you’re going to kiss me,” Bucky jokes, smiling, but it freezes on his face and he swallows hard when Steve takes a half step toward him. 

“Maybe I’d be doing him a favor, making it clear he has no chance with you.” 

Steve’s voice is low and velvety, and Bucky can hardly get any air to enter his lungs. 

“Maybe you would,” he squeaks out, and his heart completely stops when Steve takes another half step in, and one hand comes up to cup his cheek.

A warm thumb strokes over his cheek and then Steve’s lips are on his, soft and inviting. It’s slow, no tongue, just the pleasurable press of plush lips against his, Steve’s body heat close to his. They separate by a degree or two and then Steve kisses him a second time, even slower; it’s pretty fucking high up there on the arousal scale for Bucky. He narrowly avoids moaning into Steve’s mouth—narrowly—and when they pull apart the second time he takes a shuddery breath and opens his eyes, not even realizing he had closed them.

Steve is still close to him, tantalizingly close, and Bucky struggles to find some words. “That was…I mean… _Steve_ …”

A smile spreads across Steve’s face. “I finally got you flustered for once. How nice.”

“Flustered,” Bucky drops his gaze to Steve’s gorgeous mouth, then back to his eyes. “I can’t even remember my own name right now.”

“Your name is Bucky, and you did say there would be bodily contact tonight, remember?”

“That I do remember,” Bucky breathes, smiling. Steve Rogers just _kissed_ him. TWICE. This is the best fucking party he’s ever been to in his life! His heart is beating about a million times per minute and his whole body feels hot and numb, except for his lips. He can still feel the exact spot Steve kissed him. Immediately he wants more, and is hoping that’s not going to be the end of the bodily contact. 

The “more” is going to have to wait, though, because there is a tap on his shoulder. When he turns he sees Jane standing behind him, looking concerned, and the back of Brock’s head as he is just leaving the room. Jane seems unaware she’s just interrupted anything important and smiles at him. 

“Hey, Bucky, can you come help me with Darcy? She’s gonna fall over soon, so I think we should take off.”

“Is she alright?”

That’s Steve, and Bucky follows up right behind it with a worried, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s okay, she’s just had a bit too much is all. Figured it was getting late so I might as well take her home before she has any more and gets sick. You know she can only handle so much.” 

Jane turns to head back toward the other room, with the two men in tow. 

“She nearing her limit?” Bucky asks as they walk, and Jane lets out a laugh.

“I think she enjoyed her bottle of wine.”

“Oh.” Bucky makes an _oh shit_ sort of face at Steve. Neither of them have had very much tonight themselves, aside from some of the rum punch. If Darcy drank most of a bottle of wine, she’s probably pretty smashed. “Yeah, we’ll walk you out to your car.”

“Whenever you’re ready to go, I’m ready,” Steve directs to him, and while Bucky doesn’t really want things to end yet, it is getting late. 

“Okay then, let’s collect our girl and get our coats.”

Darcy is sitting at one of the kitchen bar stools, nibbling on a cookie when they find her. 

“Bucky! Steve! Come have a drink with me!” 

“Word is you’ve had quite enough already, young lady,” Bucky tells her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. 

“Not as much as Brock, I guarantee you that,” Darcy proclaims, finger stabbing into the air for emphasis, and Steve and Bucky trade glances. 

Jane observes this, and says quietly, “Yeah, he’s been hitting the bar pretty hard all night.”

“Uh oh,” Bucky presses his lips together. That can’t be good.

“Mean drunk?” Steve questions, but Bucky shakes his head negatively.

“No, the opposite. Weepy drunk.” He looks at Darcy. “Ready to go?”

“I dunno.” She yawns. “I’m pretty comfy right here.”

Steve chuckles next to him and Bucky rolls his head around. “Well you can’t sleep here, Princess, so let’s go.”

“Come on, Darce. Bus is leaving,” Jane puts in. “I’ll grab our coats.”

“I’ll go with you and get ours, too,” Steve offers, touching Bucky’s shoulder as he passes by him to follow Jane out to the study.

Bucky turns his attention back to his co-worker. “Let’s go, sweetheart.” 

Grabbing his empty tray and Jane’s, he then tugs at Darcy’s shoulder, prodding her enough to get her to stand and start moving. 

“Did you and Steve have a good time?” 

Nodding and smiling, Bucky replies, “Yeah. I’ll tell you all about it later.”

“Promise?”

“That’s a definite promise.”

Once they have their coats on and have bid farewell to their host, they are on their way. It has grown colder while they were inside and there are tiny snowflakes falling softly to the ground. Jane isn’t parked as far down the other way as Bucky, so it doesn’t take long to get them to their car. Bucky gives both of them a hug and is amused to see Darcy throw her arms around Steve’s neck and embrace him, too. Jane gives him a more polite hug, which Steve has to stoop down quite a bit for. He smiles through all of it, though, and as they watch Jane put her little Prius into gear and pull away from the curb, he says sweetly,

“I like your friends.”

“What a coincidence, I do too!” Bucky chirps back, and Steve chuckles. 

“Great group of people you work with. Mostly.”

Bucky laughs at the _mostly_ as they turn, walk back up to the sidewalk, and head down toward his car. “Yeah, mostly,” he agrees. “Did you have fun, then? I know parties with strangers can be…not as fun.”

“I did.” Steve looks at him sideways. “You still willing to come with me next week to mine?”

“Of course I am. I wouldn’t leave you hanging.”

 _Duh._ Mentally Bucky slaps himself upside the head. What a dumb thing to say. What he meant to say was, _Of course I am, because I want to see you over and over and over again._ They are just approaching Everett’s house as they backtrack, walking slowly and very close to each other, shoulders occasionally brushing together. Steve looks at him straight on. 

“And is that the only reason?”

Stopping dead in his tracks, Bucky looks at Steve. Is he asking because he wants there to be more? Or because he doesn’t want Bucky to assume too much? His face is unreadable, but fuck it, Bucky’s going to assume the best, not the worst. 

“No, it’s not. I…”

He never gets to finish his sentence, because the front door to Everett’s house flies open and a staggering Brock comes out. 

“Bucky, Bucky wait…”

 _Oh God. What now?_ “Shit, here it comes…” he says out loud.

Steve turns and plants himself slightly in front of Bucky, which he thinks is chivalrous and damn fucking sexy, even if it is unnecessary. Brock is no threat, even if he is obnoxious and annoying.

“Bucky…please. I don’t know what I did wrong, but I swear I’ll do it better next time.” 

As the dark-haired man draws close, the smell of alcohol on his breath is unmistakable, and his eyes are bloodshot. He’s a mess. He’s wearing no coat. And what the fuck? _Next time?_

“Brock, what the…? What are you talking about, next time?”

Coming to a wobbly halt in front of them, Brock focuses his glassy eyes on Bucky. “I want you back. Take me back.”

Bucky can’t help the low groan that escapes. Holy fuck, why this right now? His first response is anger, anger that he’s been putting up with Brock being a complete prat, because the idiot couldn’t tell him the truth? He pushes the anger down, though, when pity takes over. Brock is drunk, and will either regret this tomorrow, or not even be able to remember it. 

Either way, it’s got to end right now. He can’t have any more illusions as to their standing. Steve was right. Steve, who is standing next to him, tense and still, not taking any action, eyes on Bucky’s face. Bucky looks at him briefly before returning his gaze to Brock.

“I’m sorry, Brock. We can be friends, but that’s it. There’s nothing else. There won’t _be_ anything else. Ever.” 

He keeps his tone firm and level. Brock starts to blubber, which _oh God_ , is much worse than if he’d been belligerent. 

“No, no, you can’t…” he cries, and ahhh, shit, there’s the weepiness. He stumbles forward toward Bucky but is intercepted by Steve, who has to basically hold the man up so he doesn’t fall. “I need…” Brock says, breaking off mid-sentence. He turns in toward Steve and vomits.

All over Steve’s thighs.

“Oh my God! Ohhhhhhh, gross, oh Steve!” Bucky shouts, grabbing on to Brock and trying to pull him away, or keep him upright, or something. 

Steve, a man who has been through a World War, acts like he just got sneezed on. He looks at Bucky and says calmly, “Damn. I like these jeans.”

“I do, too!” Bucky throws out there, and regards Brock. “Shit. Even if we put him in an Uber, I don’t trust him to get back inside his own house safely. Should we take him back in here?”

“So he can barf all over Everett’s house and guests, too?” 

Brock is half bent over, dry-heaving and sounding awful. Bucky shakes his head. _Crap._ “My gym bag is in my car. I’ve got an extra pair of sweats you can put on, then you can drive my car and follow me. I’ll drive the shithead here home.”

“Okay. That’s a good plan.”

“Bucky, Bucky please, I just want you back,” Brock moans from his crouched position, and Bucky rolls his eyes. 

“Brock, where’s your coat? Your car keys?”

“Everett’s got ‘em,” he slurs. “Wouldn’t let me drive.”

“Gee, I wonder why,” Bucky says sarcastically, and looks at poor Steve, still standing there half helping to keep Brock standing. “Let me grab those sweatpants for you, then I’ll get his coat and keys.”

Steve nods but then amends that. “Keys and coat first. I’ll keep him here.”

Nodding back, Bucky smiles internally. Steve’s tone was all business, so Bucky can rest assured that Brock will NOT be following him, or getting into any other trouble, until he comes back. He jogs up to the house and goes in, finds Everett’s greying head amongst the remaining party-goers, and has a quick word with him. Everett is apologetic, as he was unaware Brock had left the house. He did, however, have his car keys to prevent him from driving drunk, and produces them from his pocket. He helps find Brock’s coat from the remaining pile in the study, and provides a garbage bag for Steve to put his jeans in after he changes out of them. 

“Bucky, are you sure you don’t need any more help with him? I could come with you,” he generously offers, but Bucky waves him off. 

“Steve and I can handle it. And thanks again for the party.” 

“My pleasure, as always.” 

Everett smiles and waves him out the door, then calls out, “Could you text me when you’ve got him home safely, please?”

“Sure thing.” 

Bucky waves back, then jogs back down the driveway. Steve’s tall silhouette is just where he left it. Brock is standing under his own power, but is bent down, hands on his knees. And he’s sniffling.

“Is he…” Bucky starts, and Steve nods glumly.

“Started crying a minute ago.”

“God, Steve, I’m so sorry…” he holds out the black garbage bag and Steve takes it.

“Not your fault.”

“You wanna go in and change? I can stay here with him.”

Looking down at himself, Steve grimaces. “I don’t want to get this everywhere. I’ll just change out by the car.”

Bucky makes a horrified face, and Steve actually laughs. 

“Trust me, I’ve been in worse situations.” 

Brock straightens up, face red, eyes red-rimmed, cheeks tear-stained. “Bucky, just give me another chance…” 

“Oh my _God_!” Bucky holds up Brock’s coat for him to take. “Come on Brock, you’re going home.” He holds his own car keys up for Steve. “Gym bag is in the back seat.”

“Got it. He said his car is just a few down, same direction as yours.”

Turning and looking down the street, he can see Brock’s car, a black Volvo, close to the house. He _did_ get to the party early. Sighing, he takes Brock’s arm. 

“Alright, let’s go.”

Steve jogs ahead to Bucky’s car while Bucky maneuvers the drunken Brock down to the Volvo and loads him into the passenger seat. Brock’s head rolls back against the head rest as Bucky pushes his legs inside the car. 

“Are you coming home with me, Buck?”

The smell of alcohol, now mixed with vomit, is strong. Bucky’s lip curls slightly. “Just to get you home. I’m not _staying_. Now put your seat belt on.”

“Don’t wanna.” 

A fresh round of sniffling starts and Bucky has to bite his tongue to keep quiet. _Oh for fuck’s sake._ He reaches down and snaps on Brock’s seat belt, then carefully shuts the door and goes around to the driver’s side. Glancing down the street, he can just make out his open car door in the distance. Steve must be changing, right there in the street. 

Not at all how he envisioned getting Captain America out of his pants, though he wishes he were down there to at least see it. _Fucking drunk-ass Brock_ , he thinks, and waits till he hears Steve shut the car door. He pulls open the door of the Volvo, gets in and turns over the engine. Moments later, he recognizes the headlights of his Forrester pulling up behind him in the street. 

Steve waits until Bucky pulls the car out, and follows. Thankfully, Brock doesn’t live that far away from Principal Ross either, and the drive is uneventful. Brock snuffles a lot and occasionally mumbles about Bucky and a fresh start, but seems mostly like he’s talking to himself, so Bucky doesn’t engage him. He stays silent, brooding about the shitty end to the evening. 

Just when things seemed so promising, too. Picturing Steve by the Christmas tree earlier when they kissed, that helps. That kiss, oh _fuck_ , it was fantastic, but how did Steve mean it? Was it really just to throw Brock off of him? Now that he has a minute to himself to think, he’s still not sure how Steve feels about him, not entirely. 

They get along well, yes. They also agreed to go to each other’s parties quid pro quo. Has it turned into something else now? Or is he hoping for too much? He pulls Brock’s car up into his driveway and watches Steve pull in and park right behind him. The burly blond then meets him at the passenger side of Brock’s car. 

Pulling open the door, Bucky pokes Brock in the shoulder. “Brock, time to get up.” Brock just moans pathetically. “Come on, let’s go,” Bucky cajoles him. He’s got Brock’s coat in one hand, as he never bothered to put it on.

Out comes his ex, getting unsteadily to his feet. He stands, looks at Steve, looks at Bucky standing next to the car door, then bends over and retches and throws up again. 

All over Bucky’s legs. 

“Aww, Christ, seriously?” Bucky wails, feeling the wetness seep through the material of his jeans. “You can’t barf all over yourself for once?”

Steve promptly grabs the drunk by the shirt collar and starts marching him up to the door. “Let’s go, buddy.”

“I feel much better now,” Brock mumbles.

“I’ll bet you do,” Steve returns sedately. 

Bucky follows behind them till they reach the door of the ranch home. He’s got the keys, so he steps around his two companions and unlocks the door, hastily pushing it open. 

“His bedroom is to the left,” he states, and Steve helpfully directs his charge through the living room and down the hallway. 

“Last door on the left.” He’s goose-stepping, trying not get vomit everywhere, though it would serve Brock right; he throws the coat down on a chair while its owner collapses onto his bed and rolls to one side. “Leave him like that, he’ll be fine,” Bucky grumbles and pulls open a dresser drawer to the right of the bed. He can’t remember where Brock keeps all his stuff after this long, so he has to try three different drawers before he finds what he’s looking for. 

Finally he finds a pair of sweatpants that will do and hauls them out unceremoniously. Sighing, he turns and addresses Steve, “I’m just going to put these on real quick,” holding them up. 

“I’ll go and find you a garbage bag of your own.”

Sighing deeply again, Bucky nods his thanks and turns toward the master bath. Brock is already snoring, the fucker. He changes as quickly as he can, folding up his ruined jeans and setting them on the edge of the sink so he can wash his hands. He doesn’t think he got any barf on them, but still. He’s just grossed out entirely. He shoots off a quick text to Everett before he forgets, telling him Brock is home and in bed. 

When he exits the bathroom, Steve is there waiting with a bag in hand. Poor Steve. What a way to end your night, putting the drunk, sick ex-boyfriend of your fake date to bed?

“Steve, I…”

“Not your fault.” Steve takes his hand and leads the way out. “Let’s get out of here.”

Bucky allows himself to be pulled back out to the living room. “Still, I..” he tries again, but Steve won’t have it. 

“Uh uh, no apologies.”

Tossing Brock’s keys down on a table, Bucky locks the door from the inside and pulls it shut before they traipse back to his car. The snow is coming down heavier now and has already covered the street and sidewalks, drifting down silently in large flakes all around them. Bucky strides over to the driver’s side, then realizes Steve has his keys and looks over the top of the car at him. Steve’s on it; he unlocks the doors and tosses the keys over, which Bucky catches one-handed.

Tossing the garbage bag containing his ruined pants into the back seat, he then climbs in and pulls his door shut. The car smells like vomit. Fortunately, running the windshield wipers a few times is sufficient to clear off the windshield and he doesn't have to get out and scrape anything. He drives as quickly as safety will allow it to get back to his place. On the way, Steve does his best to keep Bucky distracted by asking him questions about where Bucky grew up, whether or not he likes his current neighborhood, if he wants to stay at his school long-term.

It helps, and when they reach Bucky’s bungalow again and climb out, the fresh air is magnificent. He leaves his car in the driveway, not bothering to pull into the garage yet. It’s more important to get in some gulping breaths of clean air, and as he stands there just breathing, Steve walks around to meet him at his side of the car. He’s got the garbage bags in hand, transferring Bucky’s over to him. 

“Steve, I’m so…”

“Still not your fault,” Steve berates him softly. 

“Well, since you won’t let me apologize, at least let me say thank you for coming.” 

“You can do that,” Steve allows, and steps closer. 

Bucky reaches up and brushes off snowflakes already gathering in Steve’s hair. “I’d ask you in, but…”

“We both still smell like vomit,” Steve finishes, and focuses his blue eyes on Bucky’s. Suddenly Bucky wants to kiss him so badly, he shivers with the anticipation of it. Being so close to him, feeling that penetrating gaze, it’s very intense. Very stimulating. Is he the only one who feels that? He _wants_ so much to press himself to Steve’s body, it’s almost a compulsion. 

“Here’s the deal,” Steve starts softly, and his eyes definitely drop to Bucky’s mouth, then come back up. “I’m really glad I came, and I’m looking forward to next weekend. But right now I need to get myself home and cleaned up, before this snow makes that problematic.”

“Here’s to next weekend, then,” Bucky replies just as softly, and doesn’t know what to do with his hands. They’re down at his side, one clutching his garbage bag, but itching to touch Steve in some way. 

“Here’s to next weekend,” Steve echoes, and inches closer. “You promised me mistletoe and schmoopy kissing. I’m holding you to it.”

Bucky’s cock has stirred, awakening with Steve’s words, while his heart has lodged itself somewhere in his throat. Still thinking the best, he leans in and closes the distance between them. He has to tilt his chin up just slightly and then to the side so he can kiss Steve, lightly but slowly on the mouth. His whole body buzzes with want and need, lighting up like a Christmas tree, and when he withdraws Steve smiles at him, eyes twinkling in the streetlight. 

“Absolutely,” Bucky purrs and backs away. “See you next weekend.”

“Next weekend,” Steve repeats, and his keys jingle in his hand as he pulls them out of the depths of some pocket. 

The last thing Bucky hears is the roar of Steve’s motorcycle engine coming to life, and the last thing he sees before he steps inside his front door is Steve, sitting on his bike, watching him go. He gives Steve a final wave and shuts his door. 

_Here’s to next weekend._


	3. Get It Together, Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve Rogers just wants to get through Christmas without being browbeaten to death by Tony and his other so-called friends for not having a love life to speak of. Then he meets Bucky Barnes, the sexiest school teacher he's ever seen, and manages to get himself involved in a fake boyfriend scheme, all in the same day. Bucky assures him it's the perfect ploy to help them both avoid unwanted criticism (and set-ups) during the stressful holiday season...only problem is, this is one set-up Steve wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the holidays are over-- I got an Avengers calendar and Captain America socks, and I just received a sweet Avengers t-shirt for my upcoming birthday (thank you elves_n_angels!) so not a bad haul and start to the year. Now if Marvel would just cooperate and NOT kill off Steve and Bucky in A4, that would be great. Happy New Year all! 
> 
> Also, it snowed! Beautiful, big white fluffy flakes! Who’s snowed in?

Chapter Three

Bucky: _So how did Operation Decontaminate go?_

Steve: _Jarvis instructed security to stop me at the door and confiscate my pants._

Bucky: _Really?_

Steve: _No! Not really. It was fine. A little on my shoes, but my jacket was spared. How about you?_

Bucky: _Maybe it was my imagination, but I had to wash my jeans three times to get the smell out._

Steve: _A safe precaution, at any rate. Any word from the barfer?_

Bucky: _None, but I don’t give two fucks. What’re you up to today?_

Steve hesitates here, looking down at his phone. They’ve been texting each other intermittently all day, with Steve running to his phone to see if there’s a new message every time he gets a chance, or every time he can hide his eagerness from the others. They’re out on a field maneuver, so he doesn’t keep his cell on him, just his ear piece. Every time he stops in at their base of operations, he checks it surreptitiously. 

Or he thought it was surreptitiously, anyway. 

“Where’s the fire?” 

That’s Sam, not looking over his shoulder to read what’s on the screen like Tony would, because Sam isn’t a nosy asshole, just asking because he notices when Steve is preoccupied. Now there’s more hesitation as he considers how best to answer that. Sam knew about the party Saturday night and knew about the circumstances that led up to the invite. What Steve didn’t tell him was how much he was into Bucky, how much he wanted the next date to be real. How much he’d fallen for Bucky, after only one evening together. 

“Just checking messages,” he answers vaguely, trying to downplay the importance of the NEW MESSAGE FROM BUCKY. 

Sam’s eyes are wary. “You look like a dog with a bone, man. What are the chances those messages are from a recently made acquaintance?”

“Fair to middling,” Steve grudgingly admits, and Sam cracks a smile. 

“I knew it. You LIKE him.”

Shoulders sagging, Steve shushes him. “Keep your voice down!” Looking around the bustling tent that was set up as base, Steve needn’t have worried. There are several men and one woman moving around and working at the computer stations inside the tent with them, and none of them are paying the slightest bit of attention to Steve or Sam at the moment. 

“So, is he coming to Stark’s bash next week with you?” Sam queries, not lowering his voice in the slightest. 

“Yeah,” Steve answers absentmindedly as his fingers fly over his phone. He sends another message to Bucky:

_Out on maneuvers. How about you?_

He doesn’t really want to talk about work stuff with Bucky, but doesn’t want to lie about what he’s doing, either. Not that Bucky ever pried into his job duties—he just really likes how even though Bucky knows who he is, he isn’t starry-eyed, or even worse, a suck-up. He’s met plenty of each, and it’s hard to hold any meaningful conversations either way. 

In this regard, Bucky reminds him of Sam…not that he wants to spend all his time kissing Sam, but the man was THERE for him when he needed to lean on someone, and didn’t see him as an abstract, legendary figure. He saw him as _Steve_ , a man who could be treated like any other man, who had his own thoughts and ideas and needs. And now look; aside from Natasha, Sam had become his best friend. 

“And how was the party?” best friend Sam whacks him on the upper arm. “Come on, ‘fess up.”

“Good. Yeah, it was good,” Steve replies, still clearly not paying any real attention to the dark-skinned man next to him because another message from Bucky has popped up on his screen. 

Bucky: _I’m on Christmas break, so basically as little as possible._

Steve lets out a chuckle, then looks up when Sam makes a dissatisfied noise in the back of his throat. 

_“Good. Yeah, it was good.”_ Sam imitates him with deep, macho bravado, then goes back to his normal speaking voice. “What does that even _mean_?”

“Hey!” Maria Hill barks at them from the other side of the olive green tent. “You two need an engraved invitation or something? They’re moving out!” 

“Slave driver,” Sam mutters under his breath, as Steve puts his phone back down and both of them head out into the field. 

\--

Steve and Bucky continue to text each other through the week; one morning he takes a picture of the perfectly flipped omelet he’s proud of and sends it over. Another night Bucky sends him a link to a recipe he wants Steve to try. It all feels friendly and normal, like something Steve could get really used to having in his life on the daily. He’s not sure how he should be processing this. Are they just friends? Or could there be more? How is he going to _know_ , when Bucky is so naturally flirty? When it comes to battle strategy, Steve is an expert. When it comes to interpersonal relationships? Not so much. 

Bucky does also tell him how he eventually received an apology from Brock, and that he still didn’t give two fucks, and while that’s close to the topic Steve would like to broach, he hasn’t quite figured out how to segue back to the question he asked before, if Bucky was only coming to the party with Steve because he’d agreed to. After they’d been interrupted by his stupid ex, the moment had slipped away. He wants to ask if that kiss Bucky had given him before they parted _meant_ something, or if he was just playing his role as fake boyfriend. 

Since he needs to see Bucky’s face when he asks it’s not something he can ask in a text message, but it’s killing him to wait till they see each other again. Because the kiss he gave Bucky at the party? Meant something. Even though he used the pretense of them giving Brock a “fuck off” message, he’d still wanted to kiss the dark-haired beauty something fierce. All night he’d thought about it, and when it happened it was as good as he’d imagined it would be. 

Bucky’s lips were pliant and willing; if Steve had deepened the kiss, would Bucky have responded in kind? Unknown. But the way his eyes got all soft when he looked at Steve had stolen his breath away. He wanted very much to repeat the experience. Multiple times. Multiple ways. He stares down at his phone and Bucky’s last message:

_And he’s still a dick for throwing up on you, drunk or not._

For the life of him, he can’t think of how to ask what he really wants to ask, so he goes for humor instead. 

_Want me to kill him for you?_

After sending back a bunch of laughing emoji’s, Bucky’s next message makes Steve smile. 

_Naw. You can let him live. For now._

Steve: _Great. I’ll put my shield away._

Bucky: _Mm. Will you pull it out later and show it to me?_

There’s that flirty talk again. The kind that makes his cock twitch inside his pants. Oh, how he wishes there was a manual somewhere he could read: “Flirtation. When Is It Serious?” Steve bites his lip and types back: _If you ask nicely._

Bucky: _Can this be a private showing?_

This one makes Steve’s heart beat in short, staccato bursts as he considers the meaning of this. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. He types in: _Are we still talking about my shield?_ And waits, eyes closed, for a response. When it arrives, his heart beats even faster. 

_Guess we’ll have to wait to find out._

\--

It’s the day of the party, as Tony’s annoying auto reminder informs him when he wakes. As if he could forget; he’s only been counting the days till he can see Bucky again, which is a definite switch from a couple of weeks ago, when he would have been thankful if a blizzard blew in and cancelled everything. Now it’s down to hours, and Steve is excited enough to vibrate right out of his clothes. After getting in his first workout of the day (he’ll get his second one in after lunch) he meets the others for breakfast. 

Fortunately, Tony is elsewhere so Steve doesn’t have to listen to any trash talking, but Natasha does sidle up next to him while he’s waiting to flip his Belgian waffle and murmur,

“You might be interested to know, a Mr. James Buchanan Barnes passed the security sweep with flying colors.”

Tipping his head to the ceiling, Steve sighs. “He’s a school teacher, Nat, not Gestapo.” He’d had to give Bucky’s full name to Tony as his guest, prompting an amusing text response from the man. _Steve, is Iron Man going to show up at my home to interrogate me about those late library books in fourth grade?_

“Doesn’t mean there couldn’t be skeletons in the closet.” She shrugs lightly and piles strawberries onto her plate. “Don’t take it personally, we’re doing sweeps on every guest.” 

“Ugh.” Steve flips his waffle over and regards her. “That mean Tony has been examining him like a bug under a microscope?”

She grins, then purses her full lips. “I think Tony has moved well beyond bugs under his microscope, don’t you? Don’t worry, Pepper and I have been keeping him busy.”

“That’s comforting.”

She gives him a rich, throaty chuckle and steps off toward a table with her plate of fruit. He watches her go without really being aware of it, eyes unfocused as he thinks about Bucky. He has to blink back to attention when Sam steps up and takes her place, attacking the pile of pancakes on the buffet table with gusto. 

“So, you nervous?” 

Sam asks the question without even looking directly at him, as if he’s just making random conversation, when he knows full well Steve is a wreck, a jangling bundle of nerves. He’d gotten the whole story out of him already, of course, since Steve was a rotten liar and couldn’t hide anything from him for long. 

“Only when I’m awake.”

At this point, he isn’t sure if he’s more nervous about how things will go with Bucky, or all the ways Tony could embarrass him. It’s a toss-up. Sam has five or six giant pancakes stacked high on his plate when he looks back to Steve and gives him a shit-eating grin.

“Maybe you should get drunk first.”

Steve makes his _you’re annoying_ face. “Funny.” 

“Maybe I’ll just get drunk first, instead.”

Steve stabs at the top two pancakes on Sam’s plate with his fork and steals them. “I’ve had enough vomit on me this week already.”

Sam pretends to glare at him, then forks three fresh pancakes as replacements onto his plate. “Please. I’m a classy drunk.”

“If snoring that sounds like a 747 taking off is considered classy.”

“Fuck off, Rogers.”

Sam always denies it, but when he’s drunk he basically just falls asleep and snores loud enough to wake the dead, so Steve knows he’s got him. The waffle maker dings so he opens it up, transfers the golden, delicious disc over to his plate and waits for Sam to finish smothering his pancakes with the maple syrup. Bantering back and forth with Sam always helps to calm him, as weird as that sounds. Right now it serves as something familiar that keeps him from focusing too much on things that could go wrong. 

Sam hands him the syrup bottle and lopes off for the table Natasha is seated at. _It’s just a party_ , Steve tells himself, squeezing the syrup in a zigzag pattern over his waffle and pancakes. Bucky. He’ll get to see Bucky soon. That thought makes it all worth it. Wearing a suit all night, being harassed by Tony, everything. It’s all worth it to have Bucky at his side again. Now he’s just got to figure out how to guarantee this won’t be the _last_ time the handsome brunet is at his side.

__

Bucky: _You lied to me. They didn’t send a car to pick me up._

Confused, Steve stares at his phone. After much cajoling and then outright pleading, he had convinced Bucky to let him send a car to bring him to Stark Tower for the party. The crux of his argument had been that the traffic getting into town would be insane and the parking situation would be just as horrible. The driver had just sent Steve a message that he’d arrived at Bucky’s house; he starts to type that into his phone when he receives a second message: 

Bucky: _This is a fucking limo, not a car. A LIMO. You didn’t have to do that._

Steve smiles to himself. Apparently school teachers in Brooklyn aren’t used to riding in limousines. 

Steve: _At least it’s not the stretch. I just told Jarvis I wanted a car to come get you. I wasn’t specific._

That was the truth, but he still wasn’t sorry it was a limo. Bucky deserved it. 

Bucky: _Well…okay then. Thank you._

Steve: _You’re welcome. Send me a pic._

A moment later a picture comes across of a smiling Bucky, seated in the back of what is, indeed, a large limo. Steve can only see half of his face since he’s panning to the side to show his background, but it’s still cute. 

_Nice. Text me when you’re close and I’ll come down to the lobby and meet you._

Bucky: _Will do._

Smiling, Steve throws his cell phone down on his bed and ambles into his bathroom. Time to shave, shower and dress. Once he’s ready, he checks himself out in the full length mirror on the back of his bedroom door. Blue eyes stare back at him from an uncertain face. He’s wearing a dark grey suit, light grey shirt and grey striped tie with hints of blue. He smooths down the lapels of his jacket and decides to go down and see what Sam is wearing, because if he stands here much longer without anything to do, he’ll go crazy. 

Luckily for him, Sam’s apartment is close by, as in the other end of the floor. Grabbing his phone, he exits his apartment and strides down the tiled hallway. Sam answers his door wearing a black suit, white shirt and black tie and beckons Steve in warmly. His dark hair is always cropped close to his head and he currently is sporting a neat goatee. 

“Man, I hate wearing suits. Everywhere it pinches. _Everywhere_ ,” he grumps, shutting the door behind Steve.

“We can lose the jackets once we get down there.” 

The apartments have a similar layout, with a modern living room open to a large, galley style kitchen. A kitchen island with a white, waterfall marble top separates the two areas. They migrate over to stand next to the island, where Sam has an open bottle of beer on the countertop. 

“Then why wear them at all?” he continues to grouse, picking his beer up and waving it in Steve’s general direction. “Want one?”

Shaking his head, Steve draws his eyebrows together. “You weren’t serious about getting drunk first, were you?”

Sam just laughs. “First one, I swear. Gotta keep my wits about me.”

“Uh, why is that exactly?”

After taking a long swallow from his drink, Sam sets it back down like he’s surprised by Steve’s words. 

“We’re going down to meet your new squeeze soon, aren’t we?”

“Oh my God.” 

Sam chortles at him while Steve buries his face in his hands. “Please don’t call him that.”

“Relax. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Steve drops his hands back down. “Also comforting. How come Tony gave me nothing but grief about finding a date, and he hasn’t said a word to you about coming to the party alone?”

“He likes me more.” 

The blond man’s nose scrunches up in response and as Sam is tossing back the rest of his beer, Steve’s phone vibrates in his pocket. Quickly he pulls it out and glances down at the screen. It’s Bucky, telling him they’re on his street, approaching the building. 

“Time to go,” Steve announces, dropping the phone back into his pocket. 

“Aye aye, Cap.”

They make their way down to the lobby, which is already teeming with activity as a steady stream of guests make their way through the security checkpoints. Though the lobby space is large, it’s still full of people, formed up into two snaky lines, all talking loudly and excitedly. There are several security guards in attendance, politely shuffling guests around. Everyone has to go through a metal detector and Steve spots Bucky about to step through one of the shiny, black, boxy units. He gives him a little wave, and he and Sam wait on the other side. 

“That your boy?” Sam asks, appraising eyes turned toward Bucky.

“Yeah.”

“I had no school teachers who were that attractive. Ever.”

“You think he’s attractive?” Steve teases. 

“Shut up.”

Bucky looks _ravishing_ in a navy suit with a white shirt and blue pinstripe tie. His short, dark hair is styled back away from his forehead. When he clears security he walks straight over to the waiting pair of men and holds out his right hand to Sam. Steve jumps in to make introductions. 

“Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Bucky tells him in a warm voice, and Sam returns, “Likewise. How was the trip in?”

Shaking his head, Bucky details the awful traffic he experienced, then turns to Steve. A broad smile lights up his face. “Lucky for me I have connections and just sat in the back seat. Hi, Steve.”

“Hi, Bucky.” Wow. “Wow. You look…great.” He really wants to touch. Hold. Rub up against. _Anything._

“Told you I clean up nice,” Bucky teases, eyes twinkling.  


”Come on, let’s go upstairs and clear out of here,” Steve asks, motioning toward the bank of elevators that’s at the rear of the lobby. 

He wants a hug, or better yet, a kiss, but feels like that would be too much…except for the fact that they’re supposed to be fake dating. But Sam knows the truth, so they don’t have to pretend in front of him. It’s starting to confuse him, and Bucky leans in close to his ear, picking up on his indecision.

“You look terrific. Sam know what’s going on, right?” he whispers, and nods back when Steve nods. “I guess I’ll save the hand-holding for when we get upstairs then.”

“Or, we could…you know, start practicing now,” Steve says, feeling a blush start to rise in his cheeks, but the smile that graces Bucky’s face puts him more at ease, as does the warm hand that slides right into his when they step into the open elevator.

He clasps Bucky’s hand, looking down at it and then up to Bucky’s eyes, locking on for a moment as the elevator fills and they are pressed to the back. Those eyes, _God_ those eyes, so alluring and enchanting. Heat starts to rise at his core, spreading and filling him. He could stare all night, get lost in there all night, without ever even saying a word, and be completely content…

“I’m still here, you know.” Sam is laughing even as he says it, and Steve tears his eyes away from his pretend-but-hopefully-more-than-that boyfriend to smile at him. 

“Sorry, Sam. You were saying?”

“I said, this is gonna be fun.”

He gives Steve that grin, the one that says Steve can’t hide anything from him _ever_ , not just because Steve is a terrible liar but because Sam can read him like a _book_ , and rocks back on his heels as the elevator starts to lift. 

“I’m here to make sure it is,” Bucky chimes in, and gives his hand a squeeze.

Looking from Sam to Bucky, and back to Sam again, Steve leans back against the elevator wall and wonders if he’s really ready for this.

\--

“You ready for this?” Bucky says right into his ear as they are ushered into the ballroom where the party is to take place. 

Sweeping his head around to take in the crowd, Steve leans in and replies, “In a way I hate big parties like this. So many people, and I’m not that good at small talk. Sometimes I get anxious.”

“I can tell. You’re so tense.” He’s still holding Steve’s hand, and rubs his thumb in a circle over the back of it to calm him. “Relax. They’re just people. They won’t bite.”

“If you say so.” 

Taking in the scene, Steve sucks in a deep breath, glad to have Bucky near him. If he could, he would just talk to Bucky all night, and Bucky only. Well, okay, maybe his little circle of friends, too. That would be okay. Schmoozing with strangers? Not high on his fun-meter. He’d rather be entertaining the school children. 

“This place looks great,” Bucky murmurs and Steve had to agree, Tony and Pepper did a wonderful job on the decorations in here. 

There is, of course, a gigantic tree covered in gold and silver tinsel at one end of the ballroom, opposite the bar and grandstand where the DJ and band are set up. Tables draped with red fabric are placed all the way around the perimeter, with tiny evergreen trees in pots at their centers and silver and gold ball ornaments placed artfully around them. The walls, too, are draped with swaths of red fabric, making for a festive atmosphere. 

The middle of the room is left clear for a dance floor, though no one is dancing yet. It’s early, and guests still spill through the wide doorways from the elevators and settle in at tables. Steve sees Nat and Clint, speak of the devil, already staked out and standing guard at one of the round, eight-top tables, so he tugs Bucky’s hand in that direction. Sam has already spotted them and heads their way as well. After all the introductions have been made and Natasha gives Bucky a not-so-subtle once-over, she turns on the charm with a dazzling smile. 

“Bucky, why don’t you come sit next to me? You can tell me all about the party last week, since Steve has been unacceptably tight-lipped about it.”

That part was accurate. Steve had told everyone he was bringing a date, where they’d met and that they’d gone to Bucky’s party together, but that was pretty much it. Only Sam got the full story. 

“I’d love to,” Bucky responds, sounding absolutely thrilled. 

He gives Steve a wink and angles a little closer, touching shoulders with him, as if to reassure him. Steve needs that, because he has no idea what Natasha’s got up her sleeve, though in the end it’s not Natasha he needs to worry about. Sam is already standing behind a chair to sit next to Clint, but before Steve has a chance to migrate anywhere, Thor’s booming voice sounds behind him. 

“My brothers in arms.” 

A large hand is clapped down on his shoulder. He turns to see Thor and also Bruce, as the scientist is tagging along right beside him. 

“Thor! Bruce!” Steve declares fondly, and more introductions are made. 

Bucky shakes hands with both the Earthling and the Asgardian, and Steve has to hand it to him, he looks only a tiny bit shell-shocked, meeting so many Avengers at once. Having not seen Thor in some time, Steve also offers his hand and has it enveloped in what could be described only as a bone-crushing grip, even for a serum-enhanced individual like Steve. Looking around at the cluster of people, Steve mentally makes one glaring observation. 

No one else has a date. Not just Sam—no one. 

“Clint, is Laura here?” 

Clint shakes his head. He’s in a light grey suit, looking dapper but quite alone as well. “Nope, home with the kids.” 

As the realization slowly dawns on him that he’s been had, heat creeps up into Steve’s cheeks. Pretty much everyone is smiling at him, except for Bucky, who has noticed his discomfort but looks puzzled by it. 

“Steve? You okay?” he questions, and Sam pipes up.

“I think he just figured out his friends are traitorous liars.” He takes off his jacket and slings it around the back of his chair. “Except for me, of course.”

Everyone is still smiling and staring, and Steve can’t decide if he wants to make his face into a scowl, or one of continued disbelief. Disbelief wins out and he suspects he now looks like a fish out of water, sucking in air through a wide open mouth. 

“Tony said everyone had to bring dates, or else.” He looks around the circle of Benedict Arnolds. “And you all said you were going to.”

“And you fell for that?” Natasha teases, smoothing down her dress, a pearl white cocktail number with a flared knee-length skirt and open back.

Just then Maria Hill joins them, looking radiant in a deep blue, fitted dress that accentuates her trim figure. Steve introduces Bucky; after greeting him and examining the group, she gives Steve a giant smile. 

“Steve, don’t tell me you believed that _everyone has to bring a date_ crap.” Immediately she turns to Bucky and pats his arm. “Not that we’re sorry you’re here, of course. It’s nice to see Steve making new friends.”

Looking up at the ceiling high above, Steve counts to ten slowly, teeth grinding. He has terrible friends, but who was the gullible one? He was. Belatedly he realizes none of them ever had any intention of bringing a date, yet they all let him believe they would, just to get him to make the effort. What horrible human beings they all were. 

Dropping his head back down, he jokes to Maria, “Apparently everything I believe in is a lie.” 

Really his words are directed to everyone, accepting their collective deceit with good grace. Sam waves an arm at him.

“Hey man, I didn’t participate in this charade, remember that.”

“Nor I,” Thor adds, and Steve turns to him first. 

“That’s because you didn’t know anything about it.” His head swivels to Sam. “You did, and you didn’t say anything.”

Sam’s eyebrows arch in a playful manner. “Are you sorry?”

“Well…no.” Steve looks at Bucky. Nope. Not sorry at all. He takes a sideways step closer to his date, and Bucky’s reassuring hand slides into his again. 

Eye focused on Steve’s, he mouths _“Me either,”_ as Sam retorts, “Then don’t be grouchy.”

“I’m not being grouchy. If I was grouchy I would have disowned you all already.”

Before Sam can reply to that, another voice sounds off from behind Steve. 

“Salutations!” Tony, sans Pepper for now, strolls up to them, black suit, shirt and tie contrasting his apparent good mood. “Did my ears deceive me, or did Steve just deny his ever-present natural state?”

“My natural state is not grouchy,” Steve grouches, sounding grouchy.

Tony smiles knowingly. “Gang’s all here, I see.” He insinuates himself in between Steve and Bucky, eyes landing on the newcomer, and the pair have to drop their hands. “Plus one, as a matter of fact.” His right hand shoots out. “Tony Stark,” he says, as Bucky clasps his hand for a shake and gives his name. “Bad luck Bucky…you’re going to be the shiny new toy under the tree this year that everyone wants to play with.”

“Tony,” Steve growls in warning. 

“Though if I were you I’d be careful playing with Steve, here—not sure if he’s ever been taken out of the box. He’s probably in mint condition.” 

“Tony,” Steve says, as his exasperating friend looks him up and down. 

“Parts of him, anyway.”

Steve wants to strangle him, but Bucky looks around Tony’s back and touches Steve’s shoulder to calm him. Glancing in his direction, Steve is surprised to see he looks amused more than anything else. 

“It’s fine,” he says, and looks like he means it, so Steve relaxes his tensed body. 

“Of course it’s fine!” Tony bellows, and Maria interjects to head him off. 

“Where did you two meet?” she asks, leaning over to lay her tiny, beaded purse (which probably has a gun in it) on the table in front of Natasha (who probably also has a gun somewhere on her person). 

“Steve came to the elementary school I teach at to visit our children,” Bucky supplies helpfully. 

“Pepper set it up for PR,” Steve explains further. 

Thor is next. “Have you known each other long then?”

“They’ve already been to Bucky’s work Christmas party together,” Natasha puts in, and Tony rocks forward on his toes, hands shoved into his pockets. 

“How interesting,” he articulates succinctly, examining Steve and Bucky openly.

“It would be, if we knew any other details about it,” Natasha digs, smiling evilly at Steve.

He’s starting to feel warm under the collar with all this scrutiny. Inevitably someone is going to ask if they’re dating, and what’s he going to say? So far Tony has been semi-behaving himself, which makes Steve even more nervous, because who knows how long that will last? 

“And how was the party?” Thor beseeches them innocently. “I understand Christmas is a very special occasion on this planet. Was the celebration grand and awe-inspiring?”

Bucky laughs out loud, seemingly much more at ease with these proceedings than Steve is. “Definitely inspiring. Especially the part when our assistant principal threw up on Steve. And then me.”

There are some exclamations of “What?” and “Eww,” followed by laughter, and Maria reaches over and pokes Steve in the chest. “Steve, did you really get thrown up on?”

He nods. Really, what was the fuss? He’d been telling Bucky the truth when he said he’d been in worse situations. He’s actually glad Bucky chose that part of the story to share, rather than divulging anything more personal about their relationship, or supposed relationship. Getting puked on? Not a big deal. Or he thought so, at least, till Tony opens his mouth again.

“Well, that’s one way to get Steve hot and wet.”

“Jesus, Tony.” Steve glares, his deepest, most sincere glare of disapproval, while there are snickers from Clint, Sam, and even Bucky nearby, the _traitor_. 

Tony is unfazed. “We’ve been over this before. Just Tony is fine.”

Steve sets his jaw. “Why don’t you stow it, _just Tony?_ Not everyone thinks of sex as a conversation starter.” 

“Why not?” Tony smiles in that roguish way of his and leans toward Bucky. “I apologize for Steve. He’s got sex on the brain, whereas I was making a totally innocent observation…”

 _Oh my God._ Why can’t he ever keep his mouth closed? “Shut it, _Tony_.”

Bruce makes an attempt to come to Steve’s rescue, stepping forward and getting Tony’s attention.

“Anyway Tony, if we could talk later about those lab results from yesterday, I really want to—”

“Meh.” Tony holds up a hand to stop him, then waves it around in the air. “It’s a _party_ , Bruce! We are not talking shop unless it’s something that’s going to get me aroused.”

“I don’t want to be responsible for that,” Bruce deadpans.

“Don’t knock it till you try it,” Tony shoots back, and claps his hands together. “All right, why don’t you all sit down and I’ll have a round of drinks sent over? No use standing around here looking like you’re all waiting for a bus. Have fun!”

While Bucky’s attention is held by Natasha, Tony creeps up behind Steve. “Nice try, Rogers, but bringing a fake date doesn’t let you off the proverbial hook.”

“There’s no _hook,_ proverbial or not,” Steve hisses back. “My private life is none of your damn business. And who said my date is fake?” 

“Okay, one, you have to _have_ a private life before it can be none of my business, therefore this is _completely_ my business, and two, does _he_ think this date is real?” 

His eyes cut to Bucky and his mouth is set in a self-satisfied smirk. Steve reddens, while at the same time he wants to wipe that smirk off his face. When he has no immediate reply, Tony chuckles.

“Get it together, Rogers.” 

He drifts off to another table to heckle some other innocent guests, Steve expects. Spotting his date alone again, Bucky rises from the chair next to Natasha and steps over to whisper in his ear, “Well, that was an experience.”

“Tony is an acquired taste,” Steve laments, putting his hand on the small of Bucky’s back to guide him to the table. 

Bucky resumes his place next to Natasha, with Steve on his other side and everyone else filling in all around. An efficient-looking waiter does swoop in with a tray full of drinks prior to dinner being served, champagne of course, in elegant fluted glasses. It’s a catered affair, incredibly posh and quite an undertaking, since there are probably two hundred guests. Tony stays busy elsewhere, which Steve is thankful for, and dinner conversation flows freely. 

Natasha shamelessly peppers Bucky with questions about the party, their first meeting, who asked who out first, and so on. He is diplomatic and enigmatic at the same time, answering her questions while avoiding giving her any solid information whatsoever, but Steve still feels like a teenager bringing his first boyfriend home to meet his parents. Judging by the skilled way Bucky handles her and the frustrated expression on her face, Steve guesses he has his own family members who grill him routinely and mercilessly about his love life. 

He relaxes as more time goes by and is stifling a giggle over the way Bucky rebuffs one of Natasha’s prying question yet again when his sharp ears pick up a barely audible hum overhead. No one else seems to hear it yet and they look at him strangely when his head tips to the ceiling, scanning for danger. 

“Do not worry, my friend. It is a harmless piece of plant life.” Thor motions upward with his head. “It circled above before descending here. I do not know why.”

Now Steve sees it, approaching them from behind, about ten feet from the floor. A small drone of some kind, more silent than the commercial ones he’s seen kids play with, smacking of Stark technology. A red, blinking light sits topside. Attached to the underside, something small and green hangs down, swaying in the air as the drone gets closer…

…mistletoe. It’s mistletoe. Steve’s head shakes in disbelief. Tony made a roving mistletoe station, and it has parked itself in the air very clearly just between Steve and Bucky. 

“Is that… _mistletoe?_ ” Bruce squints at them from across the table. 

Next to him, Bucky is chortling softly. “You said he wouldn’t be able to resist.”

“Well come on then,” Maria calls out insistently. “I don’t think it’s going to leave until you satisfy it.”

“Are we required to shoot it down?” Thor inquires thoughtfully, stroking his short beard. “Or is the offering edible?”

“No, Thor,” Clint answers, grinning. “You don’t eat it. Mistletoe means you have to kiss whoever you’re with.”

Thor’s eyes narrow. “Does it emit some form of mind-control wave?”

Maria bursts into laughter. “Relax, big guy, it’s just tradition.” 

Brows knitted together, Steve remarks, “Yeah, but usually _voluntary_ , not forced.”

“That mean you’re not going to kiss him?” Sam teases.

“Wh…no…I didn’t say that!” Steve sputters, and everyone around the table is grinning at him. 

“Good thing, too,” Bucky says, turning Steve’s chin toward him with two fingers. “Because I’ve been waiting for this.” 

He plants a kiss squarely on Steve’s lips; a polite company kiss, not one with any heat to it, but Steve still feels his heart explode in his chest, because under the table Bucky’s other hand slides over his lower thigh as they kiss, and the squeeze at his knee feels anything but polite. Watching Bucky sit back, withdrawing his hand at the same time, Steve feels himself smiling before he realizes he is sporting a huge, goofy grin. Bucky winks at him. 

What is this? Putting on a show? Bucky said he wasn’t sorry either about coming to the party, but that could mean a lot of things. It’s an evening filled with Avengers and other big-wigs from the community, plus top notch food and drink. It’s possible he’s just here for the experience. His mind wanders back to their conversation in the school staff office. _No strings attached._ Is that still true? Are they past that now? _Shit._ And damn Tony for having a point. 

Giving up on the psychoanalysis for now, he tips his head back and watches the drone fly off and stop over another table nearby, above some other unsuspecting couple. Interesting. Craning his head around the room, he searches for his target as Sam asks, “Who’s driving that thing?”

Searching face after face, he finally finds the one he’s looking for. “I don’t know,” he replies, “But it’s not Tony. Or Pepper.”

He can see them both, engaged in conversation with a group of people, hands free or holding drinks, not looking in the direction of the drone at all. 

Natasha snorts at him. “Like Pepper would be behind that?”

“Not Pepper,” Bruce agrees. “But I wouldn’t put it past Tony to have programmed in some sort of algorithm to canvass the room.”

“Algorithm?” Steve questions, somewhat rhetorically. “You mean it’s not random?”

“You know this is Tony Stark we’re talking about, right?” Clint puts in sarcastically. 

They all have a round of giggles about that, then forget about the drone entirely as conversation turns to other topics. That is, until ten minutes later when the drone returns, again hovering right over Steve and Bucky.

“You were saying about that algorithm, Bruce?” Sam dryly jokes. 

Looking up, Steve blinks twice, then looks at Bucky.

“Your turn,” Bucky states, and his tone is oh-so intriguing, like he’s daring Steve to up the ante. He waits to see what Steve will do, and it’s _on_. A slow, crafty smile appears on Steve’s face.

Never one to shrink from a challenge, he picks up the gauntlet and leans in slowly, stopping when his lips are a fraction of an inch from Bucky’s. In a soft voice that would only be discernible to the man closest to him, he murmurs, “My pleasure,” and kisses him. Gently, softly. He’s got one hand on the back of Bucky’s chair and doesn’t touch him anywhere except the mouth. 

Polite…but not all the way polite, because he’s going unbelievably slowly on purpose. Fire licks along inside his body when their lips touch and Bucky _possibly_ may make an _Mmmmmmm_ sound in the back of his throat. Maybe. When he pulls back, Bucky’s eyes are filled with fire as well, and his smile is contagious. 

“Well,” he says crisply. “I see you brought your ‘A’ game.”

“I’m just getting warmed up.” 

Yow, that was delectable. _Eat my shorts, Tony, this is too good to risk messing up._ He can get it together later, right? Because they’ve definitely started a game of some kind and though Steve’s not entirely sure what the rules are, he already feels like a winner if he gets to keep kissing Bucky all night. 

\--

When dinner is finished, it doesn’t take long for the other guests to start nonchalantly passing by their table, all wanting a selfie with an Avenger. After a couple dozen asks, Clint and Thor are the first to bolt, heading for the bar to see who can out-drink who. To further separate the targets, Sam and Natasha head for the dance floor, where many couples are already slow dancing their way around the floor in tiny circles. 

After yet another photo, this time with a politely pushy elderly lady wearing a red ball gown and calling Steve “sweetie”, Steve glances at Bucky, hoping to catch his eye. Though he’s talking to Bruce and Maria, he feels Steve’s gaze and turns his head, smiling at him. Maybe he sees the silent cry for help, or maybe he’s just tired of sitting, but he excuses himself from the others and appears at Steve’s side to save him. 

Leaning in close, he whispers, “You know there’s one place the other guests will leave you alone, right?”

“The bathroom?” Steve quips, playing with him. 

Bucky laughs. “I was referring to the dance floor…but then again, you didn’t mention anything about dancing,” he teases, referring to their last party.

 _This_ kind of dancing, though, Steve is okay with. _This_ kind, he thinks he’ll like. Especially with the partner standing next to him. Before he can express this sentiment, the drone appears for its third visit, ignoring Bruce and Maria and gliding inexorably toward Steve. Grabbing Bucky’s hand before the drone has a chance to settle above them, he pulls him toward the dance floor. 

Undeterred, the drone follows them until they reach the center of the room and come to a stop themselves. Sliding his hands up over Steve’s chest to clasp them around his neck, Bucky steps in close and allows Steve to place his hands on his hips. There is a very soft whirr from the drone as it drops lower, only a couple of feet over their heads, as if to remind them of its presence. 

As they start to sway together they both lean in simultaneously to kiss. The result is their most heated union yet. It’s longer and hungrier, though not deeper, as they both feel constrained by the limits of public decency. They each press their lips just a little more firmly to the other’s and linger there, a second or two longer than needed. Steve feels his breath hitch in his chest, and squeezes Bucky to him a little more tightly. 

“I guess dancing’s not so bad,” he murmurs as they begin a slow twirl. 

“Not so bad?” Bucky echoes in a disappointed tone. His grin returns. “You’ve never danced with _me._ ”

He snugs his body in so close to Steve’s that their chests touch, and Steve gets a rush of heat that goes straight to his toes. Did he say not bad? He meant _divine_. 

“So I guess you didn’t really have to bring a date, huh.” 

It’s an observation, not a question. Steve blows out a sigh. “My team is dysfunctional.” 

Bucky laughs, a lyrical, genuine sound that lifts Steve’s spirits. “Still, I like them.” His eyes bore into Steve’s. “And the mistletoe. Very ingenious.”

“Tony is something of an evil genius,” Steve agrees in jest. 

Despite the light tone, inside his mind is racing. Mistletoe and kissing and Bucky. It’s a heady mix, and he may be in over his head here. He’s counting on Bucky to at some point make this easier for him and give him a clear sign of how he feels. They continue to dance and since there’s no good reason to stop, they don’t, staying on the floor song after song, bodies close, the heat between them building. They talk while they dance, about a great many things. 

They talk about Steve’s team and what it was like for him coming out of the ice, and it’s kind of cathartic for him. They’ve had him talk to shrinks, of course, and that never feels particularly good to Steve, who is always concerned about what judgments are being made in the little steno pad (What did that scribble mean? Is he saying too much? Not enough?). With Bucky there’s no judgment, and no pity. Just acceptance. Also, Steve is delighted to find that Bucky is right—they are hardly interrupted at all, which makes him want to stay on the dance floor even longer. 

The drone, however, starts to become a problem. Not because he isn’t enjoying kissing Bucky…because he _is_. Too much. The intensity of their kisses grows each time the mistletoe appears above them (which Steve suspects is way more often than it should unless the drone is specifically targeting them, but whatever). While he likes this game they’ve got going of one-upping each other’s kisses, it does pose risk. They are dancing closely together; a stiffy would be difficult to hide, not only from Bucky but from the room at large, and that’s the last thing Steve needs to explain. 

It’s after the fifth appearance of the whirring piece of machinery and a particularly hot kiss involving Bucky’s lips sliding around to nuzzle his ear when Steve remarks, without even thinking much about it, “I’m gonna destroy that thing before we leave.”

Laughing softly and looking up as the mistletoe disappears, Bucky states, “I’d pay good money to see that.”

“Oh? Tired of fulfilling your duty of providing schmoopy kisses?”

Bucky’s eyes cut back to Steve’s. “Never.”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek. His cock is feeling the heat now, too. As signs go, how clear is that? That’s pretty clear. Or at least partially clear. He’s not good at reading signs, as it turns out. His options are to cool it, or continue and risk a disastrous tent in his pants spoiling their good time. _Damn_ Tony and his warped sense of humor. Is he trying to force his hand? _Get it together, Rogers._

He wants to get closer to Bucky, but if Tony is trying to be helpful he’s failing miserably. _Making_ them kiss isn’t exactly the same as spontaneous kissing. How’s he supposed to figure out which is which? Looking on the bright side, at least the limbo is _fun_ and he gets a thrill whenever Bucky touches him. Makes it easier for him to chicken out and avoid asking if it’s all for show or not. Why spoil a good thing? After more kissing, and a good deal more dancing, they take a break to whet their whistles and have some additional champagne. They have joined Clint, Thor and now Sam, who are all downing shots of God knows what from the long bar, when the drone appears again to Steve’s left. Bucky, of course, stands to his left. 

“I think this drone is rigged,” Steve complains to no one in particular, but Sam barks out a laugh.

“It’s definitely rigged. Know how many times it’s been over my head?” He goes on without waiting for Steve to guess. “Three. Know how many times I’ve been standing next to Clint when that happens? All three!” 

Bucky giggles next to him and receives a mock glare from Sam and a frustrated, “Not Maria, not Nat. _Clint_.”

“He wouldn’t kiss me, either,” Clint tells them, sounding sore about it. 

“Hell no, I’m not kissing you!” Sam affirms, tossing back his shot. 

“That’s bad karma, Sam,” Bucky teases, and Clint shouts, “Exactly!” pointing at Bucky as if to emphasize the correctness of his statement. 

“What happens if you don’t kiss anyone?” Steve wants to know, and Sam shrugs.

“Drone goes away.”

All of their heads tip upward. The drone hasn’t moved—if anything, it’s gotten closer to them, now floating only inches away from the top of his and Bucky’s heads, their insistent and silent companion. 

“It’s not going away,” Thor observes astutely, smacking his lips over his drink. 

Steve feels a flicker of annoyance. No, it’s more than a flicker. He’s annoyed. Before he can think better of it, he reaches up with lightning quick reflexes and snatches the drone right out of the air, holding it in front of himself and inspecting it like he would a piece of alien technology. The drone whirrs angrily, telling him it wants to be set free. 

He tips it side to side, examining it carelessly. Bruce comes over, wanting to see it close up. Thor offers to open up the Bifrost and send it to another planet. 

“Steve!” The female voice behind him is authoritative and stern. “Drop it!” 

Lowering his head, Steve sets his jaw like a dog caught with a chicken bone. 

“ _Drop. It._ ” Natasha appears out of thin air next to them. 

“But Nat…” Steve whines, knowing full well he’ll give in. You don’t mess with Natasha when she uses that tone. 

Her eyebrows arch sharply and she waits, crossing her arms in front of her chest. With a groan, Steve releases his hold on the drone, which immediately gains altitude and speeds away from him. 

“Thank you,” she says sweetly, and saunters up to the bar to get a drink. 

Bucky is staring…not at Natasha but at Steve, with eyes he hasn’t seen before. Eyes that are examining him head to toe, sharp with purpose, glittering with need.

“What?” Steve asks, unnerved, and Bucky slides closer, pitching his voice so only Steve can hear. “I just got a little turned on, that’s all.”

He’s looking at him like he’s dessert, and desire rips through Steve, coursing through his veins, filling him everywhere, all at once. How’s that for clarity? It’s impossible to ignore, and he doesn’t want to anyway. That’s enough of a sign for him. 

“ _That’s all?_ ” he repeats, and grabs Bucky’s hand. 

He gives him just enough time to set down his champagne glass before pulling him away from the bar. 

“Come on, we’re dancing.” 

This conversation needs to be private. This conversation isn’t for anyone else’s ears at the bar. He can’t douse the fire in his belly or slow the wild beating of his heart any more. His arms go around Bucky’s hips, bringing him in tight. No more games. 

“I want the truth…” he breathes, but before he can even finish his sentence, the drone with its cargo of mistletoe returns. 

“Oh, for Chrissakes,” Steve says crossly.

Bucky takes matters into his own hands, by taking Steve’s face in his hands. He turns it down, away from the drone, and when Steve returns his attention to him, he kisses him. 

A real kiss. Hot and needy. Taken by surprise, it takes a second for Steve to respond, but when he does it’s all on instinct. He doesn’t think, he just reacts the way his body wants to, needs to. Bucky’s mouth is on his and is slightly open, so Steve parts his lips and tips his head to one side. When their tongues touch, an electric ZAP short-circuits every functioning synapse still in his brain. 

There’s nothing but Bucky and the way he tastes, the way his tongue fills his mouth. The only sound in the room is now their breathing, and the only sensation is that of their bodies touching. Bucky’s hands on his face, cupping his cheeks. His own hands clutching Bucky’s sides, wrapping around him to pull them together from head to toe. Soft tongue curls around his and they stay locked together, breathing hard. It’s heaven, and it doesn’t ever stop and yet does stop, much too soon. 

Bucky pulls back first, his breath warm on Steve’s face. “I didn’t know if that would work,” he gasps. 

“That wasn’t shmoopy,” Steve gasps back. 

A hint of a smile appears. “Fuck no it wasn’t.”

Steve looks into Bucky’s eyes, pupils big and dark, ringed with icy blue. And finally asks what he’s been wanting to ask. “Did you…are you kissing me because you’re pretending for my benefit, or because you’re interested in…more?”

Bucky’s hand grip his shoulders and he shakes his head in disbelief. “I’ve been flirting my ass off with you since we met. Didn’t you notice?”

Steve gulps air and swallows the lump in his throat. “Didn’t know what it meant.”

“It means I’m interested, you big dork.” His eyes search Steve’s face. “Question is, are you?”

Joy and excitement and hope make Steve’s chest swell. “There’s absolutely no question about that.” 

Impulsively he grabs Bucky’s hand again, leading him away from the dancing, away from the ballroom. They pass other party-goers without slowing down, Steve in the lead, Bucky following silently behind. He takes Bucky down the hall, around one corner, past the public lavatories, around another corner and down where the hall is empty and quiet. No interruptions. Only then does he stop and pull Bucky to him, snagging him by the waist and kissing him. 

There’s nothing fake about this kiss. Nothing tentative. Now that he knows, really knows for sure, Steve doesn’t hold back and neither does Bucky. Steve deepens this kiss straight away, loving the feel of Bucky’s hot, wet tongue against his. They kiss long and deep, hands roaming freely. Bucky’s climb Steve’s back, moving over that wide expanse before sliding down to settle into the small of his back. 

Steve has one hand on the back of Bucky’s head, holding him close. The other starts on Bucky’s back and then drops as he maps out the defined muscles there, then moves on to one firm cheek of his ass. Dear Lord, the man has a great ass. He gives it a squeeze, his big hand grabbing as much of it as he can, and Bucky moans gutturally into his mouth.

That’s what unhinges Steve the most, hearing that sound come out of Bucky’s mouth. His cock springs to attention, blood rushing south, making it hard to think about anything else besides the desire now skyrocketing inside him. Another sound soon replaces that one, only Steve doesn’t like this one nearly as much. The drone has left the ballroom and located them again, like a heat-seeking missile. They break away from each other when they hear it approach. 

“Son of a bitch!” Steve exclaims.

Bucky just looks at it, then turns and opens the door closest to them, pulling Steve inside by the arm. Doesn’t matter what it is, they just go in blindly and shut the door behind them, effectively blocking out the drone. Searching in the dark, Steve finds a switch on the wall and flicks it on. A single, dim bulb blinks on overhead. The room is small, a supply closet only, but he doesn’t care and neither does Bucky.

“Where were we?” he asks saucily, plastering himself to Steve’s body.

“You moaned when I kissed you,” Steve reminds him, voice like gravel, gripping both cheeks of his rear this time and pulling him in close. 

“That’s not all I’m gonna do.” 

Bucky surges forward, shoving Steve back to bump against the wall of the tiny room. One hand goes between his legs, finding his hardened cock and stroking over it. His lips find Steve’s neck and he presses a line of kisses downward, starting just under his ear. Soft, nipping kisses, the kind meant as foreplay. The kind that make Steve shamelessly moan back his approval. 

When Bucky’s mouth reaches his Adam’s apple, he lets go of Steve’s cock to try and loosen his tie, yanking at it insistently while holding onto the knot with his other hand for leverage. He works it open and unfastens the top two buttons of Steve’s shirt. Now his lips have unfettered access to his collarbones and throat, which is good, but Steve’s lonely cock isn’t pleased with all the attention going elsewhere. 

Thrusting one knee inside Bucky’s legs to get closer, Steve digs his erection right into Bucky’s hip bone, rubbing up and down against it for some friction. As an added bonus, Bucky’s cock now presses against his stomach. He can feel it, hard and thick, right through the thin material of his shirt and Bucky’s trousers. 

Rocking against each other, they gyrate with a fast, uneven rhythm, desperate for contact, for relief. Bucky’s face is buried in Steve’s neck, his breaths hot and shallow on his bare skin, and the super soldier isn’t in much better shape. They rub themselves up and down over each other’s bodies, both needing more, more of everything. He gasps for air, feeling like there’s not enough oxygen in the room, like his aching cock will burst out of his pants. Like if they keep going, it’s going to be over with much too quickly.

“Bucky,” he moans and stills his movements, as difficult as that is. “I want you to come upstairs with me.”

“To your place?” Bucky stills his hips, but his mouth finds Steve’s again and he kisses him, so passionately Steve's head spins. 

“My place,” Steve confirms, looking at him in the dim light, hair mussed up, lips kiss swollen and glistening. _Beautiful._

“Am I gonna get that private showing I asked for?”

“You’re gonna get whatever you want.”

Bucky’s eyes glitter at him. He takes a step back and pulls Steve away from the wall. “Then why aren’t we there already?”

Jerking open the door, they emerge disheveled but eager, only to find the drone there waiting for them. _The drone._ Without hesitating Steve launches himself into the air at it; more prepared this time, the drone counters and lifts higher toward the ceiling. Steve, however, was expecting that move and is prepared too; the ceilings, though high in this section to accommodate the ballroom, are no match for his prowess. 

Leaping a good fifteen feet into the air, he easily nabs the escaping drone and lands lightly on his feet with it, ripping it cleanly in two. The red light at the top dies. The quiet whirr is no more. Immensely satisfied, Steve sets the dead pieces of machinery on the floor and looks at Bucky, who is staring at him again with naked lust written all over his face.

“You need to take me upstairs _now_.” 

Steve is all over that like white on rice. They make it to the appropriate elevator, the private one that only inhabitants of the Tower can access, just barely, and resume kissing once the silver doors slide shut. Steve jabs at the correct floor button and pushes Bucky back against the wall. They trade wet, sloppy kisses, both too worked up to get coordinated, both aroused to the point that speech becomes problematic, and is unnecessary anyway. 

Bucky smells so good and feels so good in his hands, and kisses like he has a PhD in making out. Steve can’t wait to get him naked and in his bed. They’re still kissing and grasping at each other, shirts pulled out of waistbands, hands inside searching for naked skin, when the elevator doors pop open. Thank God there’s no drone waiting for them, or Steve might have had an aneurysm. 

They make it inside his apartment safely and he turns on one light to guide their way back to his bedroom. The living room is to the left, kitchen on the right, with a center hall in between. As they travel down the hall they shed clothing right and left. Steve kicks off his shoes and whips his tie off over his head. Bucky follows suit, shucking his shoes as well, but it takes him longer to get his tie off since it wasn’t pre-loosened in the supply closet like Steve’s was. 

They stop and stand in the darkened bedroom; Steve unbuttons Bucky’s shirt first, as he is wrangling his tie off, then his own. He is bare-chested when he turns on another light at his bedside. 

“Fuck,” Bucky exclaims, getting an eyeful of his naked torso. 

“That’s the general idea,” Steve breathes and stops moving, making sure Bucky’s still on board. 

Bucky steps in and runs his hands over Steve’s pecs appreciatively. “Promise me something,” he says, and Steve nods, wrapping his arms around him instinctively. 

“Anything.” 

The answer is honest. Whatever Bucky wants, Bucky gets. That’s how this is going to go. Bucky regards him silently for a moment and Steve waits, hands at his waist, for him to collect his thoughts. 

“I know you probably can’t ever let go all the way, for fear of hurting someone.” 

He steps back and takes off his dress shirt, then his undershirt, exposing a very muscular chest and set of six-pack abs to Steve fully. Steve gulps air. He knew Bucky was built, and he’s been feeling those hard muscles under his shirt all night while they were dancing, but DAMN, how was he hiding all that under there? 

“But if I ask for more, promise you’ll give it to me.”

Fuck. Steve’s cock is so hard he could pound nails with it. “I can do that,” he agrees. 

Bucky is right; he can’t ever use his full strength, and he’s still going to be careful not to hurt him, but the sight of that muscled torso is doing things to him, making him want to test those limits. Imagining himself thrusting into that willing body is intoxicating. 

They keep their eyes locked onto each other as Steve reaches forward and unzips Bucky’s fly. Bucky pushes his pants down over his hips himself, getting all his remaining clothes off at once, and Steve stands there, transfixed. Bucky is an exceptionally and strikingly fine example of a man when naked, all lean, hard muscle, looking more like a model than a school teacher. 

Eyes still on Steve’s face, Bucky steps in and unbuttons Steve’s pants. “Your turn,” he says smoothly, and Steve repeats his line from earlier, putting his hands on the smooth skin of Bucky’s hips and pulling him close.

“My pleasure.” 

They kiss again, but it’s less frantic this time now that there’s more bare skin exposed, now that the promise of all there is to come is so close at hand. Bucky’s tongue slides around his and he unzips Steve’s pants, then delves in and palms him over his boxer briefs, damp already with pre-cum. 

“Please tell me you have some lube nearby,” Bucky murmurs, and shoves Steve’s pants down and out of his way.

“Of course. What’s the Boy Scout motto?” Steve steps out of his pants and pushes his boxer briefs down as well.

Bucky looks at him, head tilted to one side. “Never run out of lube?”

He smiles when Steve starts laughing, chest shaking. “Right,” Steve chuckles. “It’s embroidered on their shirts.” He points at the drawer on one side of his bed. “In there.”

Sitting down to get his underwear and socks off, Steve plans on moving up onto the bed, but it seems Bucky has other thoughts on the matter. After grabbing the bottle of lube and tossing it onto the bed, he drops to his knees in front of Steve, pushing his legs apart and getting in between them. _Okay. This is good, too._ Steve freezes in place, watching as the dark head lowers and a pink tongue darts out to give him an experimental lick. 

Looking up at him from under a curtain of long eyelashes, Bucky drags his tongue from the base of Steve’s hard length to the tip, and Steve doesn’t even try to stop a low groan from escaping. Shit, that tongue is lethal. Bucky’s hands are on his knees, his head between his spread legs. His tongue is soft, testing him and tasting him slowly. After a few more licks, he makes a tight sweep around the head of Steve’s cock and it twitches with excitement, leaking at the slit, throbbing with anticipation. Steve begs for more in a broken voice. 

Finally, Bucky’s lips slide down over the head and he takes him into his mouth. Leaning back on his hands, Steve groans deep in this throat and keeps his eyes down on the show below. Those red, luscious lips close around his length, sucking gently at the head of his cock first before diving down lower. He takes a little bit more in each time and then slides back off, sucking and hollowing his cheeks with each pass, and Steve may lose his mind. 

“Oh God, Bucky…” he whispers reverently, hoping he never stops. His abdomen quivers with need and it’s hard not to start rolling his hips, pushing his cock in deeper. He tries to hold still and let Bucky have control, but it’s tough. All that tight, wet heat around his shaft feels amazing, and Bucky hasn’t even worked himself up to full speed yet. 

Incrementally his pace quickens and that dark head bobs up and down, each long suck better than the last. Steve’s spit-slick cock is dark and purpled, thick with his erection, and so sensitive to the pressure Bucky’s mouth and tongue put on it. He moans again, a torn, desperate sound, and tips his head back to the ceiling, eyes drifting shut in pleasure. 

The tongue and lips keep at him, sucking, sliding up and down, and Bucky’s hands then move too, inching their way and down Steve’s thighs, rubbing over his hot skin. His entire body is on fire, pushed close to his limits by the exquisite being at his feet. Knowing Bucky is going to bring him to the brink soon, he feels like a warning is in order. He opens his eyes and looks down, taking in a couple of quick breaths. 

“God, Bucky…I’m close, if you wanna stop…”

_Please don’t stop._

Bucky pulls off and mouths at him with swollen, wet lips that travel up and down the side of his cock once before he asks, “Is that gonna be a problem for me in five minutes?”

He immediately takes Steve in deep again, before he even answers, like he already _knows_ what the answer is going to be, and Steve grunts.

“Not even that long.”

Perks of being a serum-enhanced human. He feels Bucky smile around his cock and keep going, picking up his pace, pulling almost all the way off before sliding back down on him, so deep the head of Steve’s cock nudges the back of his throat, and oh sweet Jesus, this orgasm is going to be cosmically good. Bucky is going at him like blow jobs are his favorite activity in the whole world, like he can’t wait to get a mouthful of cock each and every time, and it’s driving Steve wild.

It’s been a while since he’s been intimate with anyone else, and there’s _never_ been anyone like Bucky. It’s building inside him, that wave of ecstasy, threatening to overwhelm his senses with its intensity. The pads of Bucky’s fingers dig into his thighs and he makes an “Mmmmm” sound in his throat that Steve can _feel_ down the entire length of his cock, and that’s what finishes him off. 

He cries out when his orgasm hits and wave after wave of pulsating pleasure rocks his body. Bucky takes it all, keeping Steve’s cock inside his mouth until he’s finished spilling himself. Only then does he pull off and take a few deep breaths of his own, recovering. His hands don’t leave Steve’s legs, though, and Steve grabs onto them to pull Bucky up and kiss him hard on the mouth. 

They tumble backward onto the bed, still kissing, with Bucky landing on top of him and straddling him. His erection is full, digging into Steve’s belly, though Bucky doesn’t seem too vexed by that or in a big hurry to get himself off. He seems content to continue their languid kissing, letting his weight settle onto Steve’s sturdy frame. Steve, though, wants a chance to turn the tables and give back some of the pleasure to his partner. 

He flips their positions, rolling them both so that Bucky is on his back with Steve bearing down on him from above. He’s on his hands and knees, caging the school teacher underneath him. Bucky’s golden skin calls to him, begging to be caressed and tasted, and hey, there’s no hurry getting anywhere, right? He takes his time, dipping his head down, kissing the very center of Bucky’s chest. Long fingers slide into his hair as Bucky holds Steve’s head in his hands, and he lets him turn his head up to speak. 

“That was _incredible,_ ” Steve tells him, and a smile fills Bucky’s face. 

“I aim to please,” he jokes, and sighs happily when Steve ducks his head down again, this time licking at one dark nipple. 

He licks tiny circles around it, letting it perk up under his tongue before nipping at it with his lips. Bucky makes a breathy sound and arches his back slightly, pushing up into Steve’s mouth. Taking his hands, Steve pushes Bucky’s arms down on the bed and holds him there, while his mouth stays busy lapping at one hardened nipple. Initially he keeps both his hands down on the bed to balance himself but then removes one and uses it to rub his thumb over the wet nipple. His mouth moves on to the other one, licking and nibbling at that one as well. 

Bucky writhes just a little bit underneath him and it only serves to spur Steve on. He moves down, over the crest of his ribs to the defined ridges of his abs. His lips trail over the center line of Bucky’s abdomen, down toward his navel. He lays feather light kisses all over his stomach, tasting that smooth skin, relishing the feel of it under his lips as he covers one side, then the other. 

Bucky whines with need and clutches at the bedsheets; his skin is hot and Steve wonders how much longer the man will be able to hold out, especially given the fact that Steve’s own flagging erection is starting to return. He sits back on his haunches to lick at the crest of each hip and his treasure trail, putting both his hands on his pelvis hold him in place.

He hasn’t touched his cock yet, but that’s about to change. When he gets a hand on it, though, circling it with his palm and thumb at the base and licking at it at the tip, Bucky just about bucks off the bed. 

“Oh, shit!” he cries out, grabbing at Steve’s head again. “Wait,” he gulps, and Steve stops at once, looking up at him questioningly.

Pulling gently at his chin, Bucky brings Steve back up to him to kiss his mouth. Steve lets himself be led, of course, not wanting to do anything Bucky doesn’t want, but is curious nonetheless. 

“Steve,” Bucky whispers, eyes dark, pupils blown wide open. “I want you inside me. Come inside me before I come.”

“God, yes,” Steve grates out, feeling his cock harden even more. 

Fumbling around behind him for the bottle of lube, he finds it and dumps some onto his palm, slicking himself up feverishly. He’s sitting back on his knees, fondling his own cock but keeping his eyes on his partner, who has drawn his knees up in preparation and has his eyes levelled directly at Steve’s hand. The way Bucky licks his lips as he watches Steve palm himself gives Steve a definite thrill. If he wasn’t so absolutely ready to fuck Bucky’s brains out, he would explore that whole voyeur angle, but now’s not the time. 

Now’s the time to push one of Bucky’s knees up into the air and find his perfect little hole. There it is, so tight and so inviting he wants to get his mouth on it, but that’s also for another time. Steve rubs his lubed up index finger over it, slowly and deliberately, and delights in the rushed intake of air from Bucky. Damn, it’s gonna feel so sensational once he gets inside that tight body and fills him up.

He leans forward, planting one hand near Bucky’s shoulder to come in for one more kiss. Bucky lifts his head to meet him, fingers stroking up the sides of Steve’s flanks, feather light. 

“Hurry,” he says, half smiling, half panting.

 _No problem_ , Steve thinks, and lines up, leaning over the top of him. He moves slowly at first, agonizingly slowly, breaching him and letting him adjust to his girth with every centimeter of penetration. Already Bucky’s tight channel squeezes around him with velvety heat, and it’s sooooooo difficult not to drive in hard and fast. _Wait, just wait._ Bucky’s breaths are coming in short gasps, but he hasn’t asked Steve to stop, and his hands are on Steve’s biceps, encouraging him by pulling on them as if to bring him in closer.

“Oh, fuck. Oh my God,” Bucky breathes, as Steve seats himself fully, his pelvis flush up against Bucky’s ass. 

Steve takes a second to pause and breathe himself, getting ready to go, because once he starts, he knows he’s not going to be able to stop. Bucky clenches around him, so hot and so right. Releasing his arms, Bucky pulls up on his own knees and murmurs, “Go.”

Steve starts to move. Immediately the air is punched out of his lungs, because _fuck_ , Bucky feels so good. A low moan reverberates through the quiet of the room and Steve realizes it’s coming from him. He pumps his hips, slow and steady, pulling out and thrusting back in smoothly. His cock is so damn hard it’s like a knife going through hot butter. He buries himself again and the moan turns into a whimper.

“Bucky.” 

Just one word, but it conveys all his feeling. _Bucky._ His body takes Steve in so beautifully, it’s almost criminal. He starts to speed up his pace, snapping his hips and fucking into him harder. He’s already starting to sweat, not from effort, just from want and desire ratcheting up his body temperature. His chest and back feel damp with perspiration, and he can see a similar shiny sheen on Bucky’s gorgeous chest and stomach.

Rolling his pelvis he grinds in, pace hard and unrelenting. Underneath him Bucky’s body rocks with his, swaying up and down as Steve pummels into him, pistoning in and out. Bucky begins to moan in short bursts, his head thrown back on the bed, the long line of his neck exposed. Grunting right along with him, Steve continues his barrage, taking him deep with every stroke.

He’s slamming into him pretty hard already, close to the limit he set for himself long ago. When he became sexually active in this new body, he never wanted to be the cause of pain for a partner. Bucky hasn’t had any problem keeping up with him so far; in fact, Steve is amazed at his staying power. His cock is rock hard, jutting up toward his belly proudly and leaking steadily at the tip. 

He’d kinda like to stroke him and get him off, but he’s too busy using both hands on the bed for leverage as he pounds him into the mattress to do it. That’s okay though, Bucky doesn’t seem to mind. His attention doesn’t seem to be on his own cock anyway. His moans have grown higher in pitch, but in a good way. In ecstasy, not distress. 

Steve’s got a good rhythm going now, punching in and out Bucky’s body, and the entire bed is shaking, wood creaking with every pass. _Please don’t break_. It’s a solid oak four poster, very sturdy, but he and Bucky are making it sound like it’s made of matchsticks. Steve’s absolutely sweating with effort at this point, so he’s surprised when Bucky cries out his name and a needy, “More.”

Gritting his teeth, Steve considers this carefully. He’s already using a lot of force. A _lot_. But Bucky made him promise, and he definitely isn’t in trouble of any kind. He obeys Bucky’s command, speeding up, pumping in harder, faster. 

“Oh, oh, ohhhh…” Steve cries out in response, because oh _God_ he’s past his self-imposed limit now and Bucky’s still loving it, the moaning sounds falling sweetly and steadily from his lips. Steve feels like he’s going to split him in two, but it’s so fucking good. He’s never driven into anybody so hard, and he’s starting to see white stars on the edges of his vision. His body is on the edge, so close to blinding, complete euphoria, closer than he’s ever come before. 

“Buck! Oh God,” He feels like he’s yelling it but can’t stop, can’t control it because his body is being driven by frenzied need, still ramming in and out of Bucky’s sweet hole, tight heat all around him, pressing unendingly around his stiff shaft until Steve just explodes. He comes inside Bucky and paralyzing, pulsing waves of pleasure wrack his body. He comes and comes and comes, filling Bucky with his seed, grinding his pelvis in against Bucky’s perfect ass.

His chest heaves with rapid-fire breaths and his hair is wet with sweat. His arms shake, muscles fatigued to the point of exhaustion. Gradually the movements of his body slow as his orgasm wanes and the aftershocks wind down. He can finally get Bucky’s cock in his hand now, reaching down and wrapping his slicked up palm and fingers around it to work it up and down.

 _Fuck_ does Bucky look enticing, teeth digging into his lower lip, eyelids fluttering, knuckles white where he still holds his own knees up so he’s bent nearly in half. 

“Come for me,” Steve whispers, jacking him hard and quick.

He’s pulled his own softening cock out from Bucky’s body and is focused completely on his erection. Bucky whispers back an enthusiastic, “Oh yeah, make me come,” while breathing hard.

Steve twists his hand on the way up, drawing a strangled gasp from the brunet, and then white cum spurts out, spattering over Bucky’s stomach and chest. Bucky’s body jerks and stiffens and he cries out as he empties himself. Steve keeps pumping his fist, coaxing more and more out of him, loving the fact that he had this effect on Bucky. That he was the one Bucky chose to be with. The sheer amount of satisfaction he feels, both from being able to pleasure Bucky and from the fantastic lay he just had, is off the charts a ludicrous amount. 

There’s seriously no way to describe how phenomenally good that just was. It defies description. He settles for a kiss, falling to one side of Bucky and bringing their mouths together for a mind-bending smooch. Bucky’s tongue licks into his mouth and his legs fall to the bed with a thump as he releases them. Maybe he’s a little tired out, too. Steve’s got one arm resting across Bucky’s chest as they kiss lazily, letting the post-sex haze linger. 

Bucky rolls toward him and their legs get tangled up together as they continue kissing each other, deep and slow kisses that cement the bond they just made. Eventually they pull apart and Steve hops off the bed to clean up and bring a warm, wet hand towel in to do the same for Bucky. After that he pulls the covers down and they move up to the head of the bed, getting underneath the sheets to snuggle. 

Steve is on his back with Bucky draped across him, legs mingling together again and Bucky’s head resting on his chest when he says, “Stay here with me tonight. Please?”

He looks down to see two blue eyes looking back, filled with warmth and affection. 

“After all, the traffic back will be horrible, too.” Steve makes excuses even though he really doesn't need to, and Bucky chuckles. 

“I’ll stay.” His head rests on Steve’s sternum again. 

“Good,” Steve states, sliding his hand over Bucky’s back, fingers caressing the smooth skin. 

“And what happens tomorrow?” Bucky says dreamily.

“I’ll ask Jarvis for another car and take you home.” 

Bucky snorts without moving his cheek from Steve’s chest. “Ass.”

Okay, he knew that wasn’t what Bucky meant. _Get it together, Rogers._ “I want to keep seeing you. A lot of you,” Steve tells him, and smiles shyly when Bucky picks his head back up to look at him. “If that’s okay.”

“That’s okay,” Bucky responds, smiling.

“It is?”

“I think it’s the best idea you’ve ever had.” 

“You do?”

“Yep.” Bucky snuggles in tighter, chin going down on Steve’s chest this time so they still have eye contact.

“Better than pretending to be your date?”

“So much better,” Bucky purrs. “But the shmoopy kisses can stay.”


End file.
